BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 


AND 


OTHER   POEMS. 


WILLIAM  C.  JONES. 


CHICAGO: 
AMERICAN   PUBLISHERS'   ASSOCIATION. 

1892. 


COPYRIGHT 

1892. 
WILLIAM  C.  JONES. 


MARY  — MY  PLAYMATE  WHEN  A  CHILD; 
THE  IDOL  OF  MY  BOYHOOD — WILD; 
THE  DEAKEST  WIFE  OF  MANHOOD  DAYS- 
I  WILL  TO  THEE  INSCRIBE  MY  LAYS. 


THE  WATER  LILY. 

Rippling  rills  that  run  down  to  the  sea, 
Are  but  tears  which  the  winter  has  shed ; 

When  the  Flower- Angel  melts  them  all  free 
And  her  cold,  chilly  ice-chains  have  fled. 

If  the  stars  be  the  flowers  of  the  heaven! 

Then  the  flowers  are  the  stars  of  the  earth  ; 
Which  God  in  compassion  has  given  — 

To  us  priceless  for  beauty  and  worth. 

We  garland  the  bride  of  the  morrow 
With  the  fairest  and  loveliest  bloom; 

We  place  them  in  wreaths  in  our  sorrow 
When  the  coffin  is  laid  in  the  tomb. 

A  joy  to  the  sad  ones  left  weeping ; 

An  emblem  of  the  rich  golden-dawn  ; 
Of  spring-time  the  Father  is  keeping 

In  heaven  where  the  loved  ones  have  gone. 

"Take  this,"  and  most  sacredly  guard  it, 
It  is  Truth's  germ,  I  give  to  your  clan; 


ii  THE  WATER  LILY. 

From  the  Flower-Angel  ever  regard  it 
A  rare  bulb  that  is  priceless  to  man! 

A  bloom  'twill  in  beauty  glow  ever, 
Kesplendent  in  the  sunshine  or  rain , 

'Twill  free  thee  of  vice — from  sin  sever  — 
Truth  I  give  thee  to  always  maintain. 

A  slave  to  base  passions,  and  in  crime, 

Man  trod  Truth  prostrate   under  his  feet; 

In  the  marshes,  in  filth,  and  in  slime 

Her  destruction  and  loss  seemed  complete. 

Winter  drew  near  with  her  tears  all  chilled; 

Her  storms  raging  on  seas,  and  the  lands  ; 
Rains  beat  down  and  the  marshes  were  filled, 

And  ice-fettered  by  her  cold,  cold  hands. 

And  God  smote  man  for  his  sin  and  lust ; 

And  for  his  struggle  for  worldly  power  ; 
Not  willing  to  love  or  Him  to  trust 

Until  the  final  and  fatal  hour. 

A  window  in  heaven  is  open  thrown, 

And  the  Flower- Angel  breathes  upon  earth; 
All  nature  smiles,  and  the  valleys  groan  — 
Teeming  in  beauty,  and  lovely  birth. 


THE  WATER  LILY.  iii 

The  valleys  rejoice;  the  rooks  laugh  loud; 

While  the  green-covered  trees  clap  their 

hands ; 
The  hills  sing  out ;  and  the  mountains  proud 

Echo  the  refrain  over  the  lands. 

The  waters  wide  now  cover  the  place 
Of  brutish  man's  sad  and  reckless  ruth  ; 

Where  once  he  had  trampled  in  disgrace 
The  Flower  -Angel's  bulb,  the  germ  of  Truth. 

A  maiden  came  there  with  her  lover  fair, 
And  she  launched  her  light  boat  on  the  deep; 

In  sailing  around  espied  what  were 

Twelve  spotless  white  flowers  quite  fast 
asleep. 

The  maid  bent  low  at  the  lovely  scene, 
Then  touching  the  fairest  of  the  flowers, 

"Why  not,  fair  sister,  O  water  queen, 
Join  us  in  this  fairy-land  of  ours?  " 

"Dearest  maiden,  I'm  thy  sistor  Truth, 
Whom  the  Flower- Angel  gave  away 

Unto  a  man  in  his  reckless  youth, 

With  whom  I  loved  and  I  longed  to  stay. 


iv  THE  WATER  LILY. 

"But  he  crushed  me,  and  I  bleeding  died, 

And  was  buried  in  the  marshes  low, 
Where  the  Flower- Angel  came  and  me  espied, 
Then  soon  again  I  began  to  grow. 

"Luxuriant  leaves  of  the  richest  green, 
And  lovely  white  flowers,  spotless  and  pure; 

Crown  now  my  head  as  the  water-queen, 
O'er  the  deep  disgrace  I  couldn't  endure. " 

And  the  maiden  bent  low  her  head  once  more: 
"Thy  name  shall  be  Lily,"  she  softly  said; 

"  White  Water-Lily  Truth,  I  adore, 

Purest,  and  fairest,  raise  up  thy  head! " 

The  Lily  said,  "  There's  not  a  stain, 

Though  bitter  my  hours  in  life  now  past, 

'Truth  crushed  co  earth  shall  rise  again,' 
Be  true  to  herself  until  the  last." 

The  Lily  shall  be  an  emblem  pure 
Of  virtue,  beauty,  and  lovely  grace ; 

And  woman's  love  will  ever  endure 

In  the  heart  of  man  to  hold  first  place. 


CONTENTS. 

PROEM  :  The  Water  Lily. 

A  Charivari       -  150 

A  Guest  of  the  Club  •      132 

Allie     -  179 

A  Merciless  Mind    -                                        -  -     131 

An  Episode        -  175 

An  Ill-Formed  Alliance       -  -     219 

An  Ill-Sorted  League  217 

Autumn  Leaves      -                          •  -     101 

Avarice  119 

Best  Look  Before  You  Leap       -  163 

Better  Than  Gold    -  77 

Birch-Rod  Days  17 

Caution       -  -     153 

Changes             -                                       -  I87 

Christmas  -  -     215 

Coins     -  235 

Crafty  -     212 

Cupid  and  Death 

Dame  Fortune         -  ~     H7 

Daunt  Not  the  Spirit    -  191 

Deception 

Discontent        -  155 

Discretion 

Dissension         -  205 

Drones  vs.  Bees      -  "     115 


»  CONTENTS. 

Fail  Not                            -  -              -              -             91 

Flattery      -  .     161 

Forgive,  O  That  Religion  -             -             -           193 

Friendship's  Disease  -             .             -SI 

Help     -  167 

Hypocrisy  .             .             -     173 

Idle-whiles  ...            79 

Idly-Heeding           -    %  .             -     123 

In  Contempt     -  -             -             -            159 

In  Fancy  Dreaming  -             .             .             -       71 

Integrity                         -  -             -             -           163 


Keats 


4? 


Labor  has  Its  Reward  -  -             -            -           157 

Life's  Grapes  -             ...     224 

Lingering  at  the  Grave  -            -             -             52 

Little  Lights  .             .            .            -      39 

Little  Physician             -  -             -             -           180 

Love's  Arrows         -  -                                              an 

oy 

Luxury  and  Ease  -             .             -           176 

Madie  Green           •  -             .             .             -102 

Mine,  Only  Mine             -  ...            99 

Mocking-bird  and  Jay  -             .             .             -      88 

Molliter  Manus  Imposuit  -             -            -           169 

My  Florida              -  .             .             .             -      51 

My  Lady  Fair    -             -  -             -             -           207 

My  Loves    -  -             -            -            -     233 

My  Mary  -             -             -           185 

Old  Age       -  -             -            -             -       72 

Oppression        -  -            •             -           231 

Our  Country  Home  -             .            .             -       75 

Our  Faithful  Servants  -            -            -           125 


CONTENTS.  iii 

Polly,  You  Talk  Too  Much  -     143 

Recompense      -  149 

Rejected     -  -       90 

Scotch  Letter  -           209 

Sic  Iter  Ad  Astra      -  -       64 

Sleep  and  Hope              -  -                                      105 

Spare  the  Rod  and  Spoil  the  Child  -     129 

Summer's  Labor            -  -                         203 

Sunny  Southern  Home       -  -                                   97 

Sweet  Lady,  I  Love  Thy  Fair  Face         -  % 

Temporal  Power      -  -                          -   195 

The  Battle-Flag      -  83 

The  Cross  Ill-Natured  Man  -             •        .     .            60 

The  Dancing  Kid  -         127 

The  Disastrous  Crossing    -  -     147 

The  Farmer's  Soliloquy      -  -     173 

The  Felon's  Dream        -  94 

The  Felon's  Soliloquy  -  43 

The  Fireside  213 

The  Harvest  of  Death  -  40 

The  Man  of  Dignity  -     139 

The  Miser          -  225 

The  Mocking-bird  -       48 

The  Orator        -  63 

The  Relation  of  Man  to  Nature       -  -     239 

The  Reward  of  Stealth  -  -                                     229 

Tae  Smile  of  Woman  -     145 

The  Templar     -  85 

The  Thrush  -     121 

The  Train          -  55 

The  Traitor  Bird     -             -  -             -             -     108 


iv  CONTENTS. 

The  Tree  and  the  Rose  -  58 

The  Twilight  Shades  -      81 

The  Wabash          -  111 

The  World  is  Cold  and  Dreary  109 

Three  Plagues         -  189 

To  Mary:  194 

To  My  Wife  -       73 

To  PortiaJ  190 

Transformation       -  -     137 

Treacherous  Friendship  233 

True  Might  -     199 

Union  is  Strength  123 

Valor  -     141 

What  Is  Fame?  C7 

What  Is  Life?          -  -     183 

What  Is  There  Better  Man  Can  Do?       -  197 

When  Fortune  Frowns         •  -     45 

Who  May  Serve  Well?  -  113 


BIRCH-ROD   DAYS 

AND.  OTHER  POEMS. 


BIRCH-ROD  DAYS. 

Fond  memory  still  recalls  the  day 
Of  tyrannizing  birch-rod  sway, 
When  sturdy  teacher,  of  the  old-time  school, 
Did  govern  well  with  rod  and  rule. 
His  unrelenting  look,  his  solemn  mien, 
May,  in  imagination,  still  be  seen  j 
And  the  truant,  disobedient  of  his  law, 
Recalls  how  quick  he  was  to  find  some  flaw ; 
Remembers  youthful  days  —  the  days  of  woe 
When  oft  was  dealt  the  unforgiving  blow 
Upon  the  back,  oft  minus  coat  and  vest, 
Of  hapless  youth,  for  trifles,  thus  opprest. 

Who  dared  to  look  or  feel  a  moment  gay, 
it  his  coercion  all  that  dav! 


18  BTRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Well  calculated  to  suppress  all  noise, 

His  laws  inexorable  —were  for  boys. 

We  would  rebel,  yet  each  rebellious  time 

Were  scored  with  the  birch-rod,  as  for  some  crime. 

Forgive  him  !  Never  !  My  heart  revolting  swells 

With  wicked  thoughts,  when  back  my  memory  dwells. 

Yet,  I  remember,  when  in  days  now  past, 

We  were  all  taught  to  spell,  alike  and  fast  j 

To  syllable  and  pronounce  were  taught  it  well  — 

Taught  from  the  spelling  book  — learned  how  to  spell  j 

The  class  in  reading,  from  books,  were  taught  to  read. 

The  teacher  had  one  purpose  —  to  succeed  j 

And  grammar,  boys  and  girls  were  sparse 

Who  could  not  give  the  well-known  rules  and  parse; 

Each  winter  brought  us  to  the  rule  of  three, 

And  we  could  cipher  well  — for  well  could  he; 

In  writing  the  teacher  would  oft  indite 

This  couplet,  in  our  home-made  copy-books  to  write : 

"  A  man  of  words  and  not  of  deeds 

Is  like  a  garden  full  of  weeds." 

And  well  we  wrote,  and  there  was  scarce  a  blot— 

For  praises  from  his  grace  quite  oft  were  sought— 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  19 

But  never  given,  unless  true  worth  was  there  — 
Worth  was  not  found,  if  it  was,  I'm  not  aware. 
Among  them  all,  alone  there  is  but  one 
My  memory  loves  to  dwell  upon; 
He  spared  the  rod  on  me,  a  helpless  wight, 
And  made  me  love  him,  ruled  me  not  by  might  j 
Judge  was  he  then,  as  now  supreme  — 
Best  of  them  all,  be  he  alone  my  theme : 

ACROSTIC. 

Just  man !  A  friend  to  my  early  days, 
All  hail,  for  thee  can  I  sing  praise ! 
Clear  was  thy  head  in  discrimination  then —   [men  ; 
Oft  hast  thou  since  shown  it  'mong  thy  walks  with 
Brilliant  in  speech,  sweet  voiced  also  j  [show. 

When  first  I  knew  thee,  thou  did'st  thy  greatness 
When  in  my  boyhood  days,  young,  frank  and  free, 
In  thy  tuition  I  loved  to  be ; 
Led  by  thy  teaching  we  first  inclined 
Knowledge  to  obtain  for  the  youthful  mind. 
Infinite  thy  kind  offices — we  name  thee  — 
Noblest  of  men  —  true  as  man  can  be. 


20  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

As  the  mind  recalls  those  days,  I  am  proud 

There  is  one  enduring  without  a  cloud 

To  darken.     Brilliant  to-day  —  bright  was  then  - 

Best  of  dear  teachers— loveliest  of  men  ; 

Who  ruled  and  governed  well— one  always  may 

Kindly —without  dictatorial  sway. 

My  memory  loves  to  dwell  upon  those  days— 
For  even  'midst  the  clouds  of  mist  and  haze 
Life's  brightest  sunshine  will  appear 
When  looking  back  o'er  times  we  now  revere. 
Ah,  chilling  time!  we  turn  aside  to  glance 
And  find  thy  fancied  visions  all  romance  ; 
Thy  fondest  hopes,  thy  brightest  dreams,' 
Sad  memories  for  life's  after  themes. 

We  hear  no  more  the  gentle,  child-like  voice, 
Who  long,  long  years  ago  was  youthful  choice 
Of  one  who  bent  with  years,  now  silvered  gray, 
Waits  but  for  time  to  bear  his  cares  away; 
Waits  for  the  hour  to  come  when  life  is  o'er, 
When  he  shall  join  her  on  the  other  shore. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS. 
CLARA. 

I  think  me  now  of  one  sweet  girl, 

That  was  the  gem,  'mong  many  a  maiden  pearl, 

That  grew  in  loveliness  and  grace 

Until  we  loved  her  — time  will  ne'er  efface 

The  memory  of  her  sparkling  eyes  — 

Bright  as  the  stars,  that  nightly  jewel  skies ; 

And  the  wavy  tresses  of  her  dark-brown  hair 

Were  soft  and  silken,  as  her  face  was  fair  ; 

Lithe  was  her  form,  each  perfect  part 

Chiseled  as  'twere  for  the  sculptor's  art  ; 

With  voice  full  round,  so  soft  and  sweet, 

She  spoke  not  word  you  would  not  wish  repeat. 

But  like  the  wild  flowers  we  used  to  gather 

And  bring  to  her  from  off  the  heather, 

She  too  has  faded.      Gone  now  to  rest 

With  Him  who  gave  that  angel  spirit  blest 

Unto  the  friends,  who  lingering  stay 

To  watch  and  weep  o'er  now  her  lifeless  clay. 

Who  is  there  that  hath  not  stood  by  the  grave 

Of  some  dear  friend,  and  tried  most  brave 


22  B1KCH-ROD  DAYS 

To  stop  the  silent  tear  that  trickled  down  with  sorrow 
All  the  fond  hopes  of  the  bright  to-morrow? 
Who  is  there  that  does  not  now  recall 
The  sorrow  of  the  funeral  knell  and  pall  ? 
Who  is  there  here  on  earth  who  would  not  give 
His  own  sweet  life,  one  dear  to  him  might  live  ? 
Who  is  there  who  has  not  felt  the  sting  and  tear 
Of  bitter  anguish  losing  friends  most  dear? 
And  yet  'mongst  God's  angel-forms  and  fairies, 
I'll  find,  I  know,  some  day,  loved  Clara's ! 

THE   SKATE. 

December's  sun  had  risen  bright  and  clear  j 

Red  cheeks  and  blue  noses  told  winter  was  severe. 

But  boys  were  happy,  for  the  chill  of  night 

Brought  to  them  visions  of  rare  delight ! 

The  creek  was  frozen  o'er,  its  glistening  ice 

Was  to  their  minds  a  part  of  paradise ; 

And  morning's  task  at  home  complete, 

Each  buckled  on  his  skates  for  winter's  treat. 

Alas !   the  glittering  surface  of  the  ice 

Did  many  a  truant  boy  from  school  entice. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  23 

The  swiftest  was  a  "deer,"  and  soon  the  race, 

For  forty  lusty  throats  quick  gave  him  chase ! 

The  school  bell  rang,  although  its  notes  were  clear, 

What  cared  we  for  it,  while  playing  deer  ? 

Away  we  went,  each  steady  stroke 

But  hours  of  distance  on  us  broke ; 

And  as  the  race  more  intense  grew 

It  seemed  to  each  he  fairly  flew ! 

When,  at  last,  we  caught  the  long-chased  deer, 

The  air  was  rent  with  deafening  cheer ! 

It  was  then  boys  circles  cut,  and  eagles  spread  — 

While  some  cut  letters  that  were  plainly  read  ! 

On  ice  we  ran  to  see  who  could  farthest  jump  — 

Saw  stars,  in  daylight,  as  our  heads  would  thump ! 

Yes,  mingled  we  in  sports,  then,  o'er  and  o'er, 

Just  as  boys  mingled  in  the  days  of  yore. 

Then  schoolward  turned,  each  skater  gay, 

Little  did  he  list,  the  weal  that  he  must  pay. 

The  homeward  journey  one  always  tires 

And  passes  little  that  he  first  admires; 

'Tis  true  of  life,  we  pass  ambition's  goal, 

Then  pray  to  rest  the  weary  mind  and  soul. 


24  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Ah,  noble  youth,  thy  freaks  are  oft  despised, 

When  better  judgment  would  them  have  prized ! 

Think  you,  my  friend,  that  boyish  vim 

Augurs  not  but  usefulness  to  follow  him  ? 

Exultant  youth,  both  bright  and  gay, 

Will  ever  live  to  bear  life's  prize  away  ? 

Reached  we  at  last  the  school-house  door,  our  faces 

bright, 

Forgetful  of  the  hour,  in  our  delight — 
His  angry  looks,  his  sullen  tones, 
Were  worse  than  next  day's  aching  bones  — 
His  switches?  I  remember— and  Jive  to  tell  — 
How  well  he  used  them  —  Aye,  used  them  well ! 

THE    HUTSON    MASSACRE. 

In  eighteen  hundred  and  ten,  a  pioneer, 

Named  Hutson,  left  for  the  wilderness,  then  here. 

His  wife  was  with  him,  and  six  dear  boys  and  girls ; 

One,  a  maiden  of  sixteen,  had  soft  brown  curls, 

And  bright  blue  eyes,  with  cheeks  so  fair, 

They  would  with  lilies  well  compare! 

The  daughter  was  the  idol  of  her  father's  heart  — 


AND  OTHER  POEMS,  25 

And  when  the  time  had  come  they  must  depart 
For  the  unknown,  and  then  far  distant  west, 
She  was  with  all  his  plans  imprest. 
Hardships  were  endured,  and  privations  by  the  way 
But  laughed  at,  in  hopes  of  a  better  day. 
Then  came  they  to  a  land  in  Nature's  dress  — 
A  plain  and  valley  teeming  in  fruitfulness  : 
Earth  had  not  then,  nor  now,  a  lovelier  spot, 
Than  the  grand  old  prairie  of  Lamotte! 
It  was  here  Hutson  built  a  homely  dwelling-. 
A  rude  log  cabin  —  his  stout  heart  welling 
With  joy  o'er  the  happiness  it  gave  to  him, 
To  be  thus  safely  housed  in  a  cabin  trim. 
Time  went  smoothly  on  until  the  season's  close, 
When  their  harvest  warned  them  of  the  savage  foes  ! 
Plundering,  murdering,  committing  ravages, 
Around  that  cabin  home  were  lurking  savages, 
Who  for  the  pale  face  had  the  most  intense  hate  — 
Yet  none  was  more  cruel  than  the  Hutsons'  fate  : 
One  evening,  as  the  sun  sank  in  the  west, 
A  mother  sat  watching,  with  babe  at  breast, 
The  return  of  father  who  had  gone  to  mill 


26  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Miles  of  distance,  across  the  plain  and  hill. 

Would  that  lovely  sunset,  as  it  westward  fell, 

Could  but  their  fate  to  them  foretell  ! 

Calmly  she  waits — when  yells  of  Indian  devils 

Break  now  upon  her— death  in  carnage  revels  ! 

Her  babe  was  into  a  boiling  caldron  thrown ; 

Mother  and  children  tomahawked,  save  one  lone 

Sweet  girl ;  who  was  their  captive  led 

To  live  a  life  of  shame  and  dread  ! 

Then  to  that  cabin  was  placed  a  torch  of  tire, 

The  lifeless  hurled  thereon  !   While  with  demon's  ire 

They  watched  the  rolling  flames  and  curling  smoke, 

Till  sighing  embers,  and  faint  glare,  the  end  bespoke  ! 

Hutson  came  home  !  Though  strong  of  frame 

Intensely  haggard  his  face  became  ! 

"My  wife!  my  children!"     Then  'mid  the  agony 

of  woe, 

The  teardrops  from  their  fountain  ceased  to  flow  ! 
The  carnage  was  complete.     Aye,  well  he  knew 
The  brutal  nature  of  the  scene  in  view ! 
Hutson,  from  all  once  near  and  dear,  then  turned. 
And  while  on  horse,  as  heart  within  him  burned, 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  *t 

Vowed  eternal  vengeance,  o'er  and  o'er, 

Against  the  Indians  evermore. 

Well  did  he  keep  that  vow!  Week  after  week, 

He  with  his  trusty  rifle  did  vengeance  seek ; 

Until,  at  last,  he  too  was  known  to  fall 

At  the  head  of  troop,  pierced  by  the  Indian's  ball ! 

And  the  old  creek,  where  we  boys  used  to  skate, 

Was  named  Hutson,  o'er  his  untimely  fate; 

And   on  the  Wabash  banks,  'bove  and  'neath  the 

hill, 

Sits  to  his  memory,  the  village  — Hutson ville. 
'Tis  said  that  we  grow  old !  That  time's  decay 
Will  change  our  feelings  day  by  day ; 
That  man  will  change  the  purpose  of  his  youth, 
And  feel  that  all  is  fading— even  truth; 
That  what  is  good  lived  only  in  the  past  — 
The  world's  degenerating  fast  and  fast. 
The  lawyer  lays  aside  his  book,  grown  old, 
Which  once  such  precious  truths  had  told, 
And  folds  the  door  upon  the  musty  shelf, 
And  feels  despondent  with  the  world  and  self  — 
Then  moralizes  o'er  his  time  and  fate, 


28  BIRCH-ROD  DATS 

And  blames  the  world,  not  his  declining  state; 

But  youth,  exultant,  with  eager  look, 

Will  gather  up  the  shelf-worn  book ; 

He  will  its  pages  anew  read  o'er, 

And  glean  fresh  treasures  from  its  store. 

He  will,  for  the  future  each  day  plan 

And  feel  the  world  depends  on  coming  man ; 

New  cities  shall  grow  up,  the  future  great, 

Will  rival  all  the  past  in  Church  and  State ! 

'Tis  ever  thus;  the  old  shall  weary  be, 

While  youth  is  buoyant,  lithe  and  free ; 

And  feels  the  world,  with  all  its  broad  expanse 

Is  made  for  him,  his  pleasures  to  enhance; 

And  grapples  with  it,  new  treasures  sure  to  find, 

That  ever  yield  to  his  inquiring  mind. 

One  age  declines,  another  takes  its  place, 

And  progress  ever  marks  our  noble  race. 

Aye,  man  !  no  matter  what  thy  sphere, 

Thy  memory  loves  to  wander  back  to  things   once 

dear; 

And  dear  to  thee,  which  after  years  will  trace, 
Are  all  the  scenes  of  boyhood's  time  and  place. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  29 

Call  back  in  memory,  ye  gray-haired  sires, 
Call  back  to  memory  your  youthful  fires; 
Call  back  the  laws  you  once  transgressed, 
Call  back  the  times  you  were  repressed ; 
Go  back  unto  the  turning  point  of  life, 
The  sweet  repressions  of  the  future  wife  ; 
She,  who  was  sweetheart  of  your  youthful  days, 
Reproving  kindly  wayward  ways. 

THE    SPELLING    SCHOOL. 

How  cheery  was  the  old-time  spelling  school 
Given  by  the  teacher  in  days  of  birch-rod  rule. 
Do  you  not  still  remember  with  what  delight 
We  hailed  the  coming  of  that  night  ? 
The  mud  of  winter,  or  the  drizzling  rain, 
Caused  us  no  anxiety  or  pain ; 
For  we  would  bundle  well  and  go 
Be  it  through  storm  or  winter's  snow; 
Do  you  not  still  remember  the  rosy  cheeks 
Which  youth  and  health  alone  bespeaks? 
His  glasses  were  adjusted,  with  stick  in  hand, 
He  was  determined  all  erect  should  stand  ; 


30  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Long  lines  were  drawn  up,  like  armies  well  arrayed 

For  field  of  action,  not  for  dress  parade; 

And  warm  the  contest,  for  there  were  those 

Who  faced  each  other  like  deadly  foes! 

And  there  were  some  who  knew  every  word 

In  Webster's  speller — for  I  have  heard 

It  said,  'twas  only  by  some  grave  mistake 

That  either  side  could  honors  take. 

'Tis  no  fancied  vision !  Ah,  I  remember  well 

The  merry  times  of  the  old-fashioned  spell! 

The  night  though  dark,  the  sidewalk  then  unknown, 

But  other  pleasures  would  these  all  atone ; 

For  as  we  wandered  home,  her  words  so  sweet, 

I  would  not  dare  in  after  life  repeat ! 

But  you  remember,  though  now  you're  silvered  gray, 

The  words  as  well  as  'twere  but  yesterday. 

And  you  might  tell,  though  this  perhaps  you'd  hate— 

The  kiss  was  stolen —  just  at  her  father's  gate ! 

These  feats  of  skill  by  all  were  well  enjoyed, 

Think  you  not  still,  'twas  time  quite  well  employed  ? 

O,  boyhood's  happy  days !  We  dream  them  o'er, 

Forgetful  now  the  ills  we  had  in  store. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  31 

As  we  go  back  unto  our  first_old  home, 

To  find  none  dearer  'neath  earth's  dome. 

We  see  again  with  enrapt  delight 

The  teachers  in  their  power  and  might ; 

And  learn  obedience  from  their  law 

That  ever  guides  our  after  life  in  awe. 

Ah,  yet  those  lessons  first  impressed  in  youth 

Are  fall  of  thought  —  if  not  prosaic  truth. 

We  find  the  boy  a  man,  and  watch  his  course, 

And  hail  delightedly  his  manhood's  force ; 

Then  trace  his  truant  youth,  his  wayward  ways, 

To  find  the  man  was  made  in  birch-rod  days. 

THE    DEBATE. 

Can  you  call  back  the  anguish  of  your  look 
When  first  you  part  in  the  discussion  took  ? 
His  august  presence,  as  he  sat  in  state, 
And  eager  watched  your  first  debate ! 
Aye,  Cushing's  Manual,  altho'  'twas  new, 
Produced  not  consternation  then  to  you ; 
But   stammering,  speechless,  with    your    heart   in. 
throat  — 


33  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Forgetful  the  points  you  were  quick  to  note ; 

The  floor  was  sinking  — it  would  soon  give  'way  — 

You  could  not  then  on  feet  one  thought  convey. 

Your  effort  was  a  failure —  but  his  word 

Was  not  reproof,  and  when  from  him  you  heard : 

"The  Halls  of  Congress  would  some  day  resound 

With  words  from  the  speaker,  intense, profound!" 

You  felt  at  once  this  life  to  you  renewed, 

As  with  new  ideas  you  were  imbued. 

Confidence  in  yourself  when  once  you've  gained 

Ever  through  life  will  be  by  you  maintained. 

And  from  that  moment  in  forensic  art 

You  eager  were  to  take  some  active  part ; 

Skilled  in  parliamentary  law,  you  tried 

With  due  deliberation  to  preside. 

Your  efforts  then,  if  with  success  were  crowned, 

Speak  but  the  man,  in  after  life  renowned. 

Dear  Hutson,  my  heart  turns  back  to  thee 
As  scenes  of  boyhood  days  come  back  to  me  — 
Back  to  the  river's  bank  I  trace 
My  steps,  with  line,  to  the  old  fishing  place. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  33 

We  angle  with  the  world  in  after  years, 

Trembling  and  cautious  we  battle  it  with  fears, 

While  in  our  youth  we  cast  a  baited  hook 

With  joyous  glee  into  the  babbling  brook, 

Watching  contentedly  until  the  bite 

To  land  the  bass  and  croppie  with  delight ; 

But  busy  man  will  scarce  find  time  to  know, 

Or  wander  back  to  scenes  of  long  ago, 

Until  old  age  creeps  'long  with  silent  stealth 

When  first  he  realizes  that  in  life  his  wealth 

Is  but  contentment!     Contented  will  I  be 

When  the  hour  shall  come,  old  Time  is  done  with 

me — 

When  the  clouds  grow  dark,  and  the  eye  grows  dim, 
And  the  Master's  summon  is  to  answer  Him, 
If  they'll  take  me  back  to  thee,  old  place  so  dear, 
To  rest  'side  Him  who  gave  my  spirit  here. 

O,  fleeting  years  !  an  unperceived  decay 
Beckons  us  ever  onward  day  by  day. 
He  will  live  best  who  lives  the  present  seeing; 
A  wiser  man,  a  happier  being. 


31  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Expectant  future  is  to  us  unknown; 
Lives  happy  he  who  calls  each  day  his  own. 
Tho'  living  present,  we  must  ne'er  forget 
Our  days  of  yore,  dear  unto  memory  yet. 

THE    EXHIBITION. 

All  is  expectancy!  The  nervous  strain 

Is  not  much  lessened  by  the  six  months'  train. 

Aye,  from  the  boy  of  six,  for  one  his  age 

"You'd  scarce  expect  upon  the  stage." 

Unto  the  lad  much  older  grown, 

Who  realizes  that  the  world's  his  own, 

And  thinks  before  few  years  have  passed  him  by 

To  realize  his  expectations  high. 

Who  thunders  forth  his  eloquence  in  tones 

Well  calculated  to  melt  the  frigid  zones; 

Bidding  defiance  to  all  laws  of  speech 

Save  those  the  birch-rod  master  doth  him  teach. 

O  glorious  youth,  expectant  hope ! 

Well  calculated  with  the  art  of  speech  to  cope. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  35 

The  timid  maiden  with  her  voice  so  low, 

How  sweet  her  speech,  "The  Beauteous  Snow." 

And  plays!  Why,  I  remember  to  have  seen 

Them  where  they  crowned  the  fairest  maiden  queen. 

These  recitations  of  our  youthful  days 

I  find  more  winning  than  the  modern  plays. 

'Twas  good  McDonald,  he  that  played  the  part 

Of  teacher  in  the  terpsichorean  art, 

That  furnished  music  with  his  band  of  ten; 

Sweet  players  were  they,  all  now  cherished  men. 

Aye,  well  they  swayed  the  audience  — with  delight 

We  recollect  the  music  of  that  night. 

Up  rolls  the  curtain  j  bashfully  steps  forth 

An  humble  youth  j  time  tells  his  after  worth  • 

And  ever  as  the  bell  doth  tap  anew 

Another  comes — greets  well  the  audience  too. 

"The  Boy  Stood  on  the  Burning  Deck  ''—  while 

Mary 

Told  well  her  story  of  the  Lambkin  fairie  j 
While  greater  actors  raised  fine  fierce  disputes 
And  seemingly  about  "Bombastes'  boots!'' 


36  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

The  "  Hardshell  Sermon  "  and  "  Survive  or  Perish!" 
"  Webster's  Reply  to  Hayne"  I  now  cherish. 
Ah,  think  you  o'er  in  after  life  the  part 
You  played  that  night  in  fine  forensic  art! 
And  wonder  you  that  time  will  not  efface 
The  memory  of  the  birch-rod  master's  grace. 

Then  step  we  to  that  other  grander  stage, 

The  after  years  —  riper,  maturer  age. 

Look  where  we  will,  in  life  scan  o'er  and  o'er, 

You  see  the  actors  of  the  days  of  yore. 

The  lad  who  won,  "The  night  we'd  the  spelling," 

Is  sure  to  win  in  life.   Where  ?  No  telling ! 

And  he  who  tries,  is  eager  to  debate, 

Kules  certain  after  in  affairs  of  state. 

Life's  exhibition  and  the  school's  the  samej 

The  after  years  but  tell  of  birch-rod  fame. 

Then  turn  we  aside,  one  pitying  glance 

Tells  that  the  after  life  is  no  romance 

But  real.  Well  is  he  who  struggling  tries 

On  earliest  resources  most  relies. 

The  envious  world,  vast  and  battling  throng, 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  37 

Gives  always  way  to  him  both  well  and  strong. 
The  world  is  ever  full,  but  learn  to  know 
And  dare  its  heights,  look  upward  as  you  go. 
The  steeps  of  Fame  though  proudly  you  ascend, 
It  is  through  Toil  that  Fame  her  crown  will  lend. 
Dare  you  the  mysteries  of  skillful  art, 
Expect  with  work  to  take  an  active  part  • 
Dare  you  gain  success  of  any  kind,  be  brave 
Success  demands  mankind  almost  a  slave. 
No  matter  where,  what  part  we  take  in  life, 
We  may  expect  a  constant  struggling  strife  j 
And  only  he  who's  best  prepared,  and  strong, 
Will  mingle  in  life  well,  and  mingle  long. 
Should  fortune  favor,  frown  not  on  the  poor ; 
Go  back,  remember  birch-rod  days  of  yore. 
In  giddy  forum  should  you  meet  success, 
Remember  strong  the  weak  will  oft  oppress; 
If  born  to  rule,  deal  lightly  with  the  mass  ; 
Help,  help  the  brother  of  the  humble  class. 
These  lessons  all  in  former  days  were  taught; 
And  must  they  perish— go  for  naught? 
Would  he  permit  the  strong  oppress  the  weak, 


38  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

The  high  and  mighty  to  deride  the  meek? 
Were  not  his  switches  ofttimes  used  to  pay 
The  tyrant  youth  who  would  oppress  at  play? 
Heed  then  the  lessons  of  thy  youthful  age, 
In  thy  life's  play  upon  the  after  stage  j 
And  learn  to  know,  no  matter  what  thy  ways, 
Life's  grandest  lessons  were  in  birch-rod  days. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


LITTLE  LIGHTS. 

In  the  sky  little  lights  we  frequently  see, 
Descending  toward  earth  with  a  twinklesome  glee ; 
Resplendent  their  course  as  through  space  they  go 

dashing, 
Soon  to  be  out  — 'tis  the  meteor's  flashing. 

They  remind  of  the  lives  of  little  ones  given 
To  us  here  on  earth,  from  the  kingdom  of  heaven; 
They  bud  and  they  blossom  awhile  'round  our  home, 
Till  the  Heavenly  Father  bids  them  unto  Him  come. 

The  pangs  of  the  parting  will  be  ever  the  same; 
And  each  sorrowing  tear  will  burn  as  a  flame, 
To  brighten  the  pathway  of  the  little  lives  given, 
In  their  journey   from   earth  to  the  kingdom  of 
heaven. 


40  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

THE  HAKVEST  OF  DEATH. 

Ah !  harvest  is  ripe,  and  Death  is  around, 
Securing  his  victims  no  matter  where  found , 
And  no  greedier  gatherer  ever  was  known 
Of  the  seeds  of  destruction,  his  agents  have  sown. 
Not  choice  in  his  victims,  not  caring  at  all, 
He  sweeps  down  the  line  and  gathers  them  all. 
The  young  and  the  old,  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
Death  gathers  alike  and  brings  to  his  door. 

He  touches  —  all  fall ; 

They  come  at  his  call ; 
And  he  is  but  waiting  to  gather  them  all. 

The  sick  and  the  weary,  distressed  and  forlorn ; 
The  gay  and  the  merry,  the  proud'st  e'er  born ; 
The  haughty  and  great,  all  lying  in  state, 
He  conquered  by  the  same  inevitable  fate. 
Nor  wants  he  their  lands,  cares  less  for  their  gold: 
Death  is  no  miser,  tho'  grasping  his  hold ; 
And  his  eye  seem'd  to  twinkle  while  he  cast  with  a 
laugh 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  41 

Their  worldly  possessions,  like  wind  does  the  chaff. 

He  touches—  they  fall ; 

All  come  at  his  call ; 
And  he  is  but  waiting  to  gather  them  all. 

Men  striving  and  toiling  from  the  time  of  their  birth, 
Depriving  themselves  of  the  luxuries  of  earth  ; 
While  neighbors,  more  lavish,  build  castles  and  revel 
On  the  sins  of  this  world,  not  unlike  the  devil. 
Still  others,  ambitious  for  fame  and  renown, 
Work  body  and  mind  till  well  broken  down. 
With  hard  striving  statesman  for  temporal  power, 
Death  touches  each  one  ere  the  realizing  hour. 

He  touches — they  fall; 

All  come  at  his  call ; 
And  he  is  but  waiting  to  gather  them  all. 

And  I  sigh'd  as  I  thought  how  Death  gathers  them  in ; 
'Tis  the  penalty  paid  for  man's  primitive  sin. 
Then  be  cheerful  and  happy,  altho'  you  be  nigh, 
Cross  bravely  Death's  river  when  the  time  comes 
to  die ; 


42  BIRCH-ROD  DAY 

For  do  not  the  merry,  light-hearted  and  gay, 
Make  more  out  of  life  as  they  pass  on  their  way  ? 
Then  do  not  have  fear  of  an  impending  fate  — 
Postpone  never  happiness  until  'tis  too  late. 

For  all  come  at  his  call; 

When  Death  touches,  we  fall. 
And  he  is  but  waiting  to  gather  us  all. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  43 

THE  FELON'S  SOLILOQUY. 
Yes,  I  have  killed  him  !  And  in  bending  low, 
Rifling  pockets,  I  saw  his  life's  blood  flow 
Then  stood  aghast !  For  who  can  tell  the  sorrow 
Even  a  life-long  criminal  will  borrow 
At  sight  of  deed  so  cruel.   Woe  is  me ! 
Outcast !  Outlaw  !  Where'er  on  earth  to  flee ! 
Quick!  Let  me  go!  The  very  stillness  of  night 
Makes  doubly  dread  even  a  felon's  flight ! 
And  blood-leeches  will  soon  be  on  my  track, 
Hounding,  pursuing,  soon  to  drag  me  back. 
Where  shall  I  fly  ?  Is  there  no  safety  left 
To  one  of  law's  protection  now  bereft  ? 
Flee  where  I  may,  the  lightning  tracks  my  path 
And  justice  scents  my  trail  with  pent-up  wrath. 
Hark!  Ere  the  gray  of  morning's  dawn,  I  fear 
The  sleuth-hounds  will  have  trailed  me  and  be  near. 
Surrender !  Never !  I  will  fast  retreat 
Back  to  the  lonely  swampe —  for  life  is  sweet. 
"Throw up!"  List!  See!  Now  they  surround  me  fast. 
I  yield  —  for  in  these  times  escape  is  past. 
For  even  one,  who  hath  law  offended  oft 


44  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Of  God  and  man,  and  at  man's  nature  scoffed ! 
But  tracked  and  trailed,  like  a  wild  beast  of  prey, 
I,  felon,  bend  before  the  law's  dread  sway! 
•  Oh,  fate,  thrice  wretched !  Henceforth  in  this  cell 
Kemorse  is  mine,  so  bitter  none  can  tell! 
Behind  the  prison  wall,  a  sin-cursed  Cain, 
Fettered  in  irons,  bound  in  prison  chain ! 
Aye,  never  more  to  breathe  a  breath  that's  free  — 
In  sorrow  waiting  for  the  gallows  tree ! 
Ah !  We  have  felt  the  silent  tear  of  time 
Steal  down  the  careworn,  hardened  face  of  crime. 
Ah,  crime!  Foul  crime!  Thou  hast  indeed  to  grief 
Brought  all  thy  followers,  and  thy  course  is  brief ! 
Methinks  at  times,  thy  seed  is  bred  in  man, 
And  curse  the  fate  that  brought  us  in  thy  van 
To  dire  destruction  !  yet,  we  oft  neglect 
Best  feelings  of  our  conscience,  and  reflect 
Not  until  the  deed  is  done.     Ill-fated  born, 
Flee  from  the  path  of  sin,  ere  you,  forlorn, 
Fill  some  prison  cell,  or  a  felon's  grave! 
Fear  laws  of  God  and  man  and  thyself  save 
Respect,  as  well  as  fear,  for  they  alone 
Bring  peace  on  earth  and  happiness  our  own. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  4P 

WHEN  FORTUNE  FROWNS. 

The  world's  a  cold   sympathizer,  when   once  <iame 

fortune  turns 
Her  smiling  face  and  frowns  upon    us.     Poverty 

then  burns! 

Cast  then  thyself  upon  its  mercy,  asking  only  bread, 
If  friendless  and  alone,   a  stone  you'll  be   given 

instead. 

Who  cares  for  distress  ?  There  are  few  who  care  to 
trouble  o'er 

The  needs  of  others.  E'en  waves  will  cast  dis 
mantled  ship  ashore. 

The  sorrow  of  an  unfortunate  one  is  but  a  drop 

In  the  broad  ocean  of  this  earth,  that  causes  few  to 
stop. 

Aye,  busy,  bustling  humanity!  Thou  canst  not  stop 

to  weep 
With  sorrowing  ones.     But  each  day  thou  seek'st 

to  steep 


46  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Thyself  in  thine  own  pleasures,  lusts,  and  pursuits 

for  gain, 
Too  eagerly  to  sympathize  with  one  another's  pain. 

Sorrowing,  misguided,  misdirected  human  kind! 
Ill-fated  born ! 

Thou  canst  still  retrieve  adversity,  still  the  world 
adorn ! 

Work !  work !  thou  canst  not  find  so  sure  a  road  to 
happiness  — 

Poverty  will  then  banish,  with  its  kindred  care  dis 
tress. 

"  My  father  worketh  and  I  work  " — graceful  tribute 

given 
To  work,  by  Him  who  labored  once  on  earth  — now 

rules  in  Heaven. 
Let  then  thy  life's  pleasure  be  thy  life's  work,  for 

it  will  tell 
In  time's  long  race  of  years,  if  what  thou  doest, 

thou  dost  well. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  47 


KEATS. 

A  flower  that  blossomed  only  with  the  night! 
Rare  and  resplendent,  'twill  in  beauty  glow, 
To  dazzle  and  delight,  and  sweetness  throw— 

For  out  the  darkness  comes  the  glow  of  light. 

Genius !  Thou'rt  a  name  ever  to  beam  bright, 
And  yet  art  coy  and  timid,  till  we  know 
When  one  offends  or  proffers  thee  a  blow, 

Thou  shrink'st  involuntarily  from  the  sight. 

From  this  vale  of  darkness,  with  tale  half  told. 
Borne  was  Endymion  !  Blessed  now  above 

With  kindred  spirits  ever  to  repose  ! 

High  on  the  steep  of  fame  his  name  enrolled, 
He  sleeps  Endymion's  sleep  !  A  Father's  love  — 

An  angel  sent  him  from  this  world  of  woes. 

, 


48  BTRCH-ROD  DAYS 

THE  MOCKING-BIRD. 

A  little  gray  bird  flew  in  our  oak  tree, 
Caroling  sweetly,  O  brother,  come  — see! 
I  wonder  his  name!  I'll  list  to  his  song! 
I  think  I  may  tell  as  he  warbles  along! 

Jay,  jay,  jay. 

Ha,  ha,  hey ! 
Whoever  heard,  althJ  note  is  quite  true  — 

Jay,  jay,  jay ; 

Of  a  jay-bird  in  dress,  and  feathers  .:ot  blue ! 

Gay,  dashing  fellow !  How  sprightly  you  sing  ; 
Warbling  the  note  of  the  blue-bird  of  Spring  ; 
Aye!  bounding  aloft  swift  as  an  arrow  — 
Unless  I  mistake — 'tis  the  song  of  the  sparrow; 

Whip-poor-will,  whip-poor-will; — 

Oh,  how  shrill! 
Cruel  bird !  I  think  you  so  silly  — 

Whip-poor-will,  whip-poor-will  ;— 
Whoever  knew  of  a  bird  whipping  Willie  ? 

Birdie,  elated  thy  song  I  admire, 

'Tis  soft  as  the  strains  of  the  harp  or  the  lyre, 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  49 

I  wonder  — Ah  !  what  a  beautiful  note 

Is  coming  again  from  thy  exquisite  throat  : 

Caw,  caw,  caw, 

La,  la,  la ! 
Indeed,  little  bird,  do  you  not  know  — 

Caw,  caw,  caw  ;— 
You  cannot  deceive  me  to  call  you  a  crow. 

Glorious  song-bird,  with  voice  like  a  lute ; 
Now  piping  away  in  tones  of  the  flute ; 
O  how  I  love  thee !  Birdie  so  free, 
Exulting  in  thy  song-mimicry; 

Mew,  mew,  mew, 

Ho,  ho,  you ! 
Never  mind  birdie,  I  will  have  none  of  that  — 

Mew,  mew,  mew  j— 
You  think  to  delude  me  to  call  you  a  cat ! 

Like  the  red-bird  you  whistle  •  coo  like  the  dove; 
Of  all  the  bird-songsters  the  daintiest  love ; 
The  shrill  note  of  the  hawk;  chirp  of  the  wren; 
Imitate  all  the  birds  in  our  glen  ; 


50  BIHTH-ROD  DAYS 

Bob  White,  Bob  White, 

Birdie,  how  bright ! 
You  think,  mimic  bird,  as  other  ways  fail, 

Bob  White,  Bob  White ; 
To  get  little  Miss  to  call  you  a  quail. 

My  sweet,  pretty  bird,  I'll  no  longer  refrain, 
Wonderful  fellow!  A  name  you  disdain  ! 
Mock-bird,  I'll  call  thee !  .Ruler  of  Song  ! 
Happiest  bird  'mongst  all  the  gay  throng ; 

Kildeer,  kildeer, 

That  note  is  queer ! 
Mocking-bird,  talking-bird,  with  song  melody  - 

Kildeer,  kildeer; 
Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  our  old  oaken  tree ! 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  51 

MY  FLORIDA. 

I  would  love  to  go  where  the  sun  shines  bright, 
When  the  wintry  winds  make  cold  the  night; 
When  earth  is  chilled  by  a  shivering  blast 
From  the  cheerless  clouds,  the  skies  o'ercast : 

When  the  leaves  are  gone,  and  the  trees  look   bare 
With  weeping  branches  from  the  sleet  they  wear; 
When  the  ice  has  covered  the  streams  and  rills, 
And  grass  lies  hidden  'neath  snow-clad  hills. 

Where  the  birds  have  flown  I  would  love  to  go, 
To  a  land  of  verdure  where's  no  snow, 
To  a  land  of  springtime,  birds  and  flowers, 
With  babbling  brooks  and  shady  bowers. 

Where  the  fig  trees  bear  and  the  oranges  blow ; 
Lemons  ripen  and  bananas  grow ; 
All  nature's  blooming  and  the  birds  are  gay  — 
0,  loveliest  land  —  My  Florida ! 


52  BIRCH-ROD  DAY'S 

LINGERING  AT  THE  GRAVE. 

There  are  those  who  lonely  linger  'round  the  silent, 

green-turfed  grave 
Of  some  dear  beloved  departed,  whom  the  angels 

loving  crave 
For  the  spirit  world  above  us,  pure  and  spotless  as 

the  snow, 
Where  no  sin  can  ever  enter  •  where  there  is  no  pain 

or  woe. 

But  the  sorrowing  tears  they  mingle  with  the   life 
less  dust  of  earth, 
And  the  silent  prayers  they  utter,  show  us  there  is 

no  dearth 
Of  deep,  sad  and  bitter  sorrow  for  the  loved  ones 

far  away, 
Gone  to  seek  the  bright  to-morrow  of  our   life's 

eternal  day. 

They  are  weeping  for  belov'd  ones,  and  they  feel 

the  pain  and  sting 
Of  that  last  sad,  tearful  parting,  whick  death's  chill 

will  ever  bring ; 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  63 

Yet  still  there  is  one  solace.   "Tis  the  promise  that 

is  given  — 
With  them  very  soon  they'll  mingle  in  that  kingdom 

we  call  Heaven. 
And  although  they  love  to  linger,  and  still  wish 

them  with  us  here, 
And  will  sit  and  sigh,  and  sorrow  at  the  grave,  the 

pall,  the  bier  — 
They  will  smile   with  joy  and  gladness,  for  their 

spirit's  only  flown 
To  a  purer  realm  of  brightness  —  for  God  ever  claims 

His  own. 

And  they  love    to   watch    sweet    flowers,  and   the 

daisies  in  the  spring 
Burst  upon  this  world  so  brightly,  'round  the  lonely 

grave  to  cling  j 
And  the  shadows  of  the  flowers  as  they  fleeting  pass 

away, 
Tell    the  story  of  our  being— earthly  things  must 

soon  decay. 
Yet  the  spirit  ever  lives,  and  seeks  a  world  of  joy 

and  light, 


54  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

And  the  Father  ev^r  kindly  gives  us  his  effulgence 

bright, 
To  show  our  earthly  pathway,  if  we  will  follow  in 

His  lead. 
Death  is  but  a  precious  solace— if  the  living   only 

heed. 

Let  them  linger,  linger,  linger,  till  the  last  sad  tear 

has  flown 
For  the  spirit-souls  immortal,  'round  our  heavenly 

Father's  throne  • 
Till  the  peeping   stars  of  nightfall,  in   the  distant 

heavens  above, 
Softly  shed  their  glimmering  beauty  o'er  the  objects 

of  their  love. 

Let  them  linger,  linger,  linger,  till  the  aching  heart 
throbs  cease, 
And  the  weary  mind   shall  slumber  ever   dreamily 

in  peace • 
It  is  not  long  until  the  hour  when  their  spirit,  too, 

shall  rise, 
There  again  to  meet  with  loved  ones  in  that  home 

beyond  the  skies. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  55 

' 

THE  TRAIN. 

Hear  the  train ! 

It  comes  again. 
Travelers,  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
Wait  impatiently  to  go 
On  their  journey,  near  or  far, 
Snugly  housed  in  palace  car. 
Mile-posts  past  them  quickly  blend, 
Swift  they  reach  their  destined  end. 
The  homeward  journey's  safely  made, 
The  business  man  to  place  of  trade. 

Flying  train, 

Speed  on  thy  way  again ! 

Hear  the  train  ! 

Thundering  on  again. 
Wonderful  its  rapid  gait, 
Moving  millions'  worth  of  freight, 
Bearing  on  the  golden  grain, 
Reaped  on  fertile  western  plain ; 


58  BlfeCH-ROD  DAYS 

Carrying  trade  from  distant  shore, 
Earth's  productions  to  our  door ; 
Speed  them  on ;  all  nations  bind, 
Showering  blessings  on  mankind. 

Useful  train, 

Speed  on  again ! 

Hear  the  train 

Dash  on  again  ! 

Begrimed  with  coal  the  fireman  stands; 
Grasping  the  reins  with  strong  firm  hands. 
The  engineer,  thro'  rain  and  sleet, 
Bravely  drives  his  engine  neat. 
Ah  !  in  thy  care,  brave  knights  of  train, 
The  lives  of  countless  souls  remain. 
Noble  thy  task  and  fearless  done, 
True  hearts,  no  braver  'neath  the  sun. 

Speed,  gallant  train, 

Through  storm  and  rain. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  67 

Flashing  train, 

Speed  on  again  ! 
Greatest  blessing  giv'n  to  man, 
Civilization  in  thy  van. 
Ah  !  thy  wheels  we  gladly  hail, 
Carrying  merchandize  and  mail. 
*Miles  are  multiplied  each  hour, 
Thro'  thy  wonder-working  power  • 
And  distance  — once  a  king  so  great, 
Like  time,  thou  now  dost  subjugate. 

Glorious  train, 

Speed  on  again ! 


58  BJRCH-ROD  DAYS 


THE  TREE  AND  THE  ROSE. 

One  day  boasting, 

An  Oak-Tree  said 
Unto  a  Brier-Rose, 

With  low-bent  head  : 

"Barns  and  bridges 

Are  built  of  me ; 
Towns  and  cities  — 

I'm  a  useful  tree. 

"You  a  Brier-Rose, 

Are  of  little  use  — 
To  the  busy  world 

A  mere  excuse ! " 

"  Sir,"  said  Brier-Rose, 

' '  Happy  the  hours, 
Seeing  Fair-One 

Gather  my  flowers. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

"Wreathes  of  roses, 
Buds  on  the  stem, 

Lovely  garlands 
I  give  to  them." 

The  giant  tree  — 
The  boasting  Oak, 

Soon  lay  fell'd 

By  woodman's  stroke. 

But  the  little  Kose 
Still  grows'each  year, 

Her  fragrant  flowers 
To  the  world  so  dear. 

So,  isn't  it  best 

Quite  oft  to  be 
A  Brier-Rose 

Than  a  boasting-tree? 


60  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

THE  CROSS,  ILL-NATURED  MAN. 

Roam,  roain  the  wide  world  over, 

Search  every  corner  well ; 
Go,  go,  my  winsome  rover, 

Search  every  nook  and  dell ; 
And  then  come  back  and  tell  me, 

In  all  thy  wanderings  'round, 
Of  all  the  vermin,  reptile, 

Can  any  one  be  found 
That  can  compare  for  meanness 

With  a  cross,  ill-natured  man  ? 
The  rover  smiled  in  meekness  : 

No  place  where  one  can  scan', 
In  all  my  wanderings  'round, 

Can  such  a  one  be  found. 

The  spider  stings  with  poison ; 

The  scorpion  unto  death  ; 
The  flea  doth  tickle  o'er  our  leg  ; 

The  ghost  doth  take  our  breath. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  61 

But,  Oh !   you  cross,  ill-natured  man ; 

You  snarling,  snapping  creature; 
You  are  the  leader  of  the  van, 

The  meanest  of  all  torture. 
You  poise  our  finer  feelings ; 

You  pierce  us  like  a  dart; 
The  day  so  warm  and  sunny  — 

You  make  it  cold  and  dark : 
Should  anyone  seem  funny 

It  breaks  your  jealous  heart. 

The  pretty,  prattling  children, 

Into  a  corner  shy ; 
Of  chilling  words,  so  'fraid  are  they, 

Whenever  thou  art  by. 
Your  home  is  made  so  wretched 

That  all  do  dread  thy  gaze; 
In  everything  thou  art  finding  fault 

In  many  hundred  ways. 
Thy  favorite  dog  thou  scoldest ; 

Thy  wife  and  children  too, 


62  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

And  when  they  plead  for  mercy 
Thou  scarest  them  from  thy  view  ; 

And  all  are  glad,  when  you  are  gone, 
To  rid  themselves  of  you. 

Ah  !  well  thou  said'st,  my  rover, 
In  all  thy  wanderings  'round, 

In  searching  this  world  over 
No  one  thing  could  be  found 

That  can  give  to  us  such  torture, 
That  can  give  to  us  such  pain, 

As  — as  this  living  creature  — 
A  cross,  ill-natured  man. 

Now,  should  any  of  our  readers 
Be  ill-naturedly  inclined, 

I  trust  they  will  immediately 
Do  penance  till  they  find 

The  greatest  blessing  of  this  earth- 
Is  a  sweet  contented  mind. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  63 


THE  ORATOR. 

Sweet  silver  tongue  !  'Tis  with  delight 
We  listen  to  thy  power  and  might 
In  tones  deep,  ringing,  soft  and  clear ; 
When  voicing  justice  and  the  right 
Thou'lt  never  fail  man's  heart  to  near. 

Aye,  magic  voice  !  Refined,  polite  — 
Deeds  bold  and  daring  thou  canst  incite: 
Or  bring  the  eye  at  will  to  tear  — 
Sweet  silver  tongue. 

Art  consummate  !  Thy  lofty  flight, 
Will  unto  thee  at  all  times  plight 
All  lovers  of  pure  speech  who  hear  :— 
True  eloquence  at  dazzling  height 
Is  ever  to  mankind  most  dear  — 
Sweet  silver  tongue. 


M  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

SIC  ITER  AD  ASTRA. 

Would  you  attain  to  greatness, 

In  any  living  sphere, 
And  leave  a  never-dying  name, 

You  must  always  persevere. 
Let  not  the  clouds  of  darkness 

Enshroud  you  in  their  gloom, 
But  battle  bravely  onward, 

Battle  to  the  tomb. 
Ah !  he  who  wins  must  labor, 

And  this  his  watchword  be : 
Work,  labor,  without  ceasing, 

Sic  iter  ad  astra. 

When  sorrows  hover  o'er  you, 
And  life  seems  dark  and  drear, 

Press  onward,  these  regardless, 
And  always  take  good  cheer : 

For  no  end  was  e'er  accomplished 
By  the  desponding  one. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  65 

Remember,  all's  not  darkness, 
The  night  gives  way  to  morn ; 

For  let  the  day  be  as  it  may, 
Our  harvest  time  is  always -gay. 

Press  onward  — never  ceasing, 
Sic  iter  ad  astra. 

Would  you  a  warrior  be, 

With  never-dying  fame ; 
For  thy  heroic  greatness 

Leave  an  everlasting  name : 
You  must  go  and  battle  bravely, 

Have  never,  never  fear, 
And  when  the  danger's  greatest 

Bring  all  thy  powers  to  bear. 
The  battle  may  rage  fiercely, 

The  victory  sure,  if  we 
Press  onward  without  ceasing, 

Sic  iter  ad  astra. 


66  BIRCH-ROD  DAiTS 

Yes,  in  the  hour  of  conflict, 

When  danger  threatens  most, 
And  Death's  dread  missiles 'round  you  fall, 

Be  firm  —  still  at  th j  post, 
For  'tis  never  the  faint-hearted 

Who  win  in  any  strife  ; 
But  with  will  and  courage  true 

You  will  win  throughout  this  life. 
Then  let  thy  motto  always  be, 

Forever,  ever  say: 
On,  on  till  victory, 

Sic  iter  ad  astra. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

WHAT  IS  FAME? 

And  what  is  Fame? 

A  dazzling  name, 
Like  a  meteoric  star ; 

A  moment  on 

And  then  'tis  gone, 
Away,  away  so  far. 

Aye,  who  can  tell, 

What  work,  and  well, 
Will  bring  it  in  our  grasp  ? 

Like  melting  snow, 

'Tis  quick  to  go, 
Ere  mortals  can  it  clasp. 

Man's  never  still, 

But  ever  will  — 
Ambition  his  desire  — 

Seek  for  a  name ; 

To  court  proud  Fame, 
Alone  he  will  aspire. 


66  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Still,  life's  made  bright, 

Like  new-born  light, 
That  doth  each  morning  shine ; 

And  toiling  man 

Will  plan  and  plan 
In  search  for  Fame  divine  ! 


AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


LOYE'S  AKKOWS. 

Treacherous  thy  arrows,  Love, 

Poisonous  thy  darts ; 
We  place  them  in  our  quivers,  Love, 

Forgetting  broken  hearts ; 
You  bid  us  be  in  welcome,  Love, 

We  blindly,  madly  sing ; 
Hope's  sweetest  smile  is  with  us,  Love, 

Till  thou  thy  arrows  fling. 

You  play,  you  fondle,  with  your  prize, 

Led  captive  by  thy  love ; 
You  tease,  torment  us,  with  thine  eyes  - 

Sweet  starlights  like  above  ! 
We  thy  caresses  glad  embrace, 

Not  fearful  of  thy  sting ; 
We  yield  to  beauty  and  thy  grace, 

Till  thou  thy  arrows  fling. 


70  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Yet  seek  we  for  thy  arrows,  Love, 

And  gather,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Thy  smarting,  stinging,  piercing  darts, 

Forgetting  those  of  yore. 
What  would  life  be  without  them,  Love  ? 

We'll  to  them  always  cling ; 
Trust  to  thy  graciousness,  O  Love, 

Till  thou  thy  arrows  fling. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS-  71 

IN  FANCY  DREAMING. 
You  may  muse  in  fancy  dreaming, 

But  the  Real  will  appear ; 
Bright  the  rainbow-colors  seeming, 

Yet  the  clouds  are  always  near. 

But  altho'  the  storm-clouds  gather, 
They  will  quickly  pass  away: 

And  the  gloomiest  of  life's  weather 
Brings  the  most  effulgent  day. 

And  'tis  folly  to  be  losing 

Time  that's  given  us  by  our  God ; 
But  be  tireless,  faithful  using 

Till  we  lie  beneath  the  sod. 

'Tis  a  debt  that  you  are  owing 

To  the  Giver  of  your  life, 
To  be  up  and  ever  doing  — 

Ceaseless  is  the  appointed  strife  ! 

Quit  thy  dreams!  and  go  with  feeling, 

Go  with  joy  into  the  sea 
Of  life's  duties,  ever  dealing 

With  a  heart  both  light  and  free  ! 


72  BIKCH-ROD  DAYS 

OLD  AGE. 

Old  Age,  we  thee  abhor! 
Stay  off!  For  we  deplore 
The  time  which  will  us  bring 
Unto  thee  an  offering! 

Thy  scythe !  An  emblem  bright ! 
Plainly  we  see  as  night 
Of  age  creeps  unawares, 
Till  thy  grim  visage  stares ! 

Aye,  still  how  true,  and  yet 
How  many  will  forget 
Each  moment,  hour  and  day, 
Presses  us  on  thy  way ! 

Rudderless,  like  ship  tost 
On  Time's  waves,  all  are  lost; 
Death  will  our  pathways  sweep 
Mortal— we  only  weep! 

Silvered  by  years,  we  bend, 
Infirm,  at  thy  decree; 
Reach  at  our  journey's  end  — 
Unknown  eternity. 


AND  OTHEK  POEMS.  73 

TO  MY  WIFE. 

ON  OUR  TWENTY-FIEST  ANNIVERSARY. 

Swiftly  the  years  go  by, 

'Tis  one  and  twenty  now 
Since  you,  my  wife,  and  I, 

Took  each  a  lasting  vow: 
Through  life  to  journey  without  fear 
And  be  unto  each  other  dear. 

Our  spring  of  life  is  o'er ; 

Our  summer's  sun,  once  bright, 
Shines  on  us  now  no  more  ; 

But  autumn  brings  delight : 
For  we  can  reap  the  harvest's  yield 
And  garner  from  a  fruitful  field. 

Life's  winter  soon  we'll  near, 

But  we  will  happy  be ; 
For  I  shall  have  no  fear, 

Since  thou  wilt  be  with  me : 
And  in  the  time  of  my  decline 
My  comfort  is  thou  wilt  be  mine. 


BIRCH-BOD  DAYS 

The  sun  effulgent  gleams 
At  dawning  of  the  day; 

But  more  in  beauty  beams 
As  evening  fades  away: 

And  in  the  evening  of  our  life 

Thou'lt  be  to  me  the  dearest  wife. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  75 

OUR  COUNTRY  HOME. 

Fondly  I  prize  my  country  home, 

And  ever  loved  it  dearly ; 
No  other  place,  where'er  I  roam, 

Time  passes  half  so  cheerly  ; 
The  morning  birds  break  forth  in  song 

And  sing  to  me  so  early, 
With  roses  blooming  summer  long, 

Fed  by  the  dew  so  pearly. 

The  lilacs  blossom  by  the  gate, 

Birds  twitter  in  their  bowers ; 
While  golden  maples,  old  and  great, 

Brush  their  purple-tinted  flowers; 
Old's  the  orchard,  with  fruit  and  vine ; 

And  the  oak  trees  on  our  lawn, 
With  swing,  where  happy  children,  mine, 

Make  glad  the  morning's  dawn. 

Here  fragrant  blooms  the  old  pear  tree ; 
Pure  white's  the  plumwood's  blossom ; 


7«  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Home  ladened  wings  the  honey-bee, 
Her  treasures  from  earth's  bosom. 

The  mocking-bird  with  joyful  notes, 
Gladdening  the  woodland's  ring, 

With  mimic  song  of  warbling  throats, 
Sweet  harbingers  of  the  spring. 

Happily  here  I  spend  my  days, 

With  wife  and  children  dearie, 
Life's  sunshine  doth  dispel  the  haze, 

And  we're  content  and  merry. 
'Tis  ever  dear  unto  the  heart, 

Its  pleasures  are  not  glary  ; 
Yet  health  and  strength  it  doth  impart, 

Its  joys  we  would  not  vary. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  77 

BETTER  THAN  GOLD. 

Blessed  children  with  hearts  bold, 
What  is  better  far  than  gold  ? 
Health  and  strength,  two  things  grand, 
Coming  from  His  loving  hand, 
Are  of  value  more  ten  fold  — 
Better,  better  far  than  gold. 

Faith  in  God,  and  Charity, 

Are  two  branches  of  a  tree, 

Of  a  Wisdom  Tree  from  Heaven, 

Tree  of  Knowledge  from  God  given  ! 

Keep  its  teachings  as  you're  told  — 

You'll  be  richer  far  than  gold. 

Learn  a  little  from  this  life, 
Man  is  mortal,  'tis  a  strife; 
And  that  strife  should  ever  be 
Few  are  chosen,  select  are  ye ! 
Work  for  God,  with  courage  bold, 
'Twill  be  better  far  than  gold. 


78  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Earthly  riches,  worldly  wealth, 
Which  may  leave  us  as  by  stealth ; 
Grandeur,  glory,  pomp  of  power ; 
Fancied  visions  of  the  hour, 
Are  in  life  a  fleeting  show, 
And  quite  valueless  we  know. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  79 

IDLE-WHILES. 

See  the  idle  moments  fly, 
Who  can  save  them,  you  and  I? 
We  can  use  them,  too,  with  grace, 
We  can  mould  them  into  place ; 
Change  them  into  sunny  smiles  — 
Idle  moments  —  idle-whiles  ! 

Hear  the  moments  as  they  fly ! 
Catch  them  !  as  they  pass  you  by: 
You  can  make  them  serve  you  well, 
Better  far  than  I  can  tell ! 

Never  let  one  you  beguile  — 

Idle  moment  —  idle-while  I 

Feel  the  moments  as  they  go, 
Quickly  passing— never  slow! 
They  can  make  you  happy  hours 
By  their  wonder-working  powers! 

Can  you  lose  and  reconcile 

Idle  moment  — idle-while? 


80  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Whiling  moments  as  they  flee; 

Whiling  time  agreeably ; 

Whiling  time  in  reverie! 

Who  will  ever  us  revile, 

May  I  ask  you,  with  a  smile, 
Should  we  lose  one  after  while  ? 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  81 

THE  TWILIGHT  SHADES. 

The  twilight  shades  of  night  appear, 

As  I  sit  silent,  lonely  here, 
Watching  the  rifting  clouds  on  high 

Swiftly  passing  each  other  by. 
The  fitful  stars  shine  out  so  bright, 

As  nature  dons  her  robes  of  night-, 
'Tis  time  for  weary  eyes  to  close 

In  sleep  —  kind  Nature's  sweet  repose. 

The  low,  sad  chirp  of  insect  wail, 

Alone  doth  cheerless  hours  regale, 
Save  ripplings  from  yon  babbling  brook, 

That  greet  me  in  this  quiet  nook. 
All  Nature's  still !  The  weary  borne 

To  peaceful  rest  from  caves  till  morn; 
And  hushed  in  the  stillness  of  the  night 

Are  all  the  busy  sounds  of  light. 

I  fancied  in  yon  peeping  star 
A  home  for  beings,  tho'  afar, 

Who  now  are  free  from  sin  and  vice 
And  dwell  with  God  in  paradise. 


82  [BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

I  saw  in  vision's  viewless  space, 
Spirit  forms  of  a  blissful  race, 

Who  trod  of  yore  the  unseen  way 
That  leads  to  life's  eternal  day. 

Eternity!  O  endless  years  ! 

Shall  mortal  fear  thee  !  Banish  fears ! 
Put  trust  in  Him  who  gave  to  thee 

A  soul  to  save  for  eternity. 
Along  time  rolls !  It  waits  for  none  ! 

It  claims  alike  the  old,  the  young; 
Earth's  but  a  season  to  begin 

To  save  the  soul  once  lost  in  sin. 

And  as  I  dreamed, 'way  sped  the  night } 

With  flickering  moon  and  starry  light: 
Emblem  of  death  !  when  'neath  the  sod 

We  wait  the  coming  of  our  God. 
So,  as  the  night  gives  way  to  morn, 

We'll  to  undying  life  be  born ; 
The  dawn  of  lovely  morning  bright 

Is  emblem  of  the  world  of  light, 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  83 

THE  BATTLE-FLAG. 

Battle-flag,  glittering  in  sunlight  and  gold, 
On  each  starry  crest  of  thy  swelling  fold 
The  name  of  an  hundred  battles  told. 
Recall  the  glories,  O  comrade,  when 
It  wav'd  on  the  field  o'er  a  thousand  men, 
While  we  marched  to  the  field  of  battle ; 

then 

This  flag  of  ours  was  new. 
With  its  silvery  stars,  on  a  field  of  blue, 
And  bright,  broad   stripes  commingling, 

too. 

Omen  of  victory!  to  us  unfold 
Scenes  of  thy  carnage  as  yet  untold  — 
Deeds  of  thy  warfare,  brave  and  bold. 
Read  and  rehearse  with  blinding  tears 
The  valor  and  courage  of  volunteers  — 
Gather  the  trophies  for  coming  years  — 
Who  gave  their  li^3s  in  the  cause  of  right 
And  march'd  to  the  front  in  gallant  fight, 
Led  by  our  flag  of  red,  blue  and  white. 


84  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Hail  !  noble  flag,  with  thy  battle  scars  ! 
Glorious  blending  of  immortal  stars! 
Grand  old  souvenir  of  our  wars  ! 
Oft  hast  thou  gladden'd  the  soldier's  life 
On  struggling  fields  when  battles  rife, 
Rainbowing  the  clouds  of  deadly  strife. 
And  now  that  the  storm  of  war  has  fled, 
Bespangl'd  banner  of  blue,  white  and  red, 
May  thy  mem'ry  ever  bright  luster  shed. 


i 
AND  OTHEK  POEMS.  85 

THE  TEMPLAR. 

Gaily  bedight,  the  gallant  Knight 

Comes  charging  o'er  the  mead  ; 
His  shining  lance   doth  me  entrance, 

As  well  his  dashing  steed. 
O  Knight  of  old,  on  charger  bold, 

Thou'lt  never  suffer  loss, 
All  know  thy  fame,  and  prize  thy  name, 

You  wear  the  Sacred  Cross  ! 

In  the  cause  of  Right  thou  wast  a  Knight — 

Child  of  humility  — 
And  battled  brave,  God's  land  to  save, 

With  great  ability. 
Fervent  thy  zeal,  for  Christian  weal 

Thou  hast  been  battling  long  ; 
And  holy  sod,  by  the  will  of  God, 

YouVe  rescued  from  the  wrong! 

Take  up  thy  shield,  and  thy  sword  wield 

In  honor  of  the  just ; 
Religion's  view,  the  Christian's  too, 

Is  now  thy  sacred  trust; 


86  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

The  orphan's  name,  the  maiden's  fame, 

The  lonely  widow's  part, 
To  thy  defense,  thence  bravely  hence, 

Go  !  Valorous  thou  art ! 

O  brothers  all,  come  at  his  call  ;— 
Around  the  sacred  throne, 

Let  us  invite  each  gallant  Knight, 

* 
To  sacrifice  his  own  ; 

For  the  Lord  above,  who  will  us  love, 

As  we  fall  in  His  line ; 
The  Great  we  praise,  will  all  us  raise  — 

We  conquer  in  this  Sign! 

Gaily  bedight,  O  gallant  Knight, 

Charging  o'er  the  mead ; 
Thy  shining  lance  doth  still  entrance, 

As  well  thy  dashing  steed  ! 
And  Knight  of  old,  on  charger  bold, 

Thou'lt  never  suffer  loss, 
The  God  above  will  ever  love, 

Who  wears  His  Sacred  Cross ! 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  87 


FRIENDSHIP'S  DISEASE. 

A  disease  to  friendship  quite  fatal, 
No  matter  how  strong  the  tie  be, 

Is  little  dislikes;  gradual  decay; 
Slight  causes  very  trifling  to  see. 

The  angry  in  time  we  may  reconcile ; 
The  injured  we  can  compensate  : 

Those  who  refuse  all  desire  to  be  pleased, 

£ 
Friendship  will  never  rejuvenate. 

Like  frosts  of  the  Autumn  that  wither  the 

rose, 
Scatter  its  leaves,   the  branches  make 

bare ; 

The  chill  of  distrust  which  silently  grows, 
Friendships  of  life  will  ever  impair. 


BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

MOCKING-BIRD  AND  JAY. 

One  summer's  day 

A  saucy  jay 
Said  to  a  mocking-bird : 

"In  handsome  blue, 

I'm  gayer  than  you, 
Greatly  to  be  preferred! 

"I've  a  royal  crest, 

And  fine  blue  vest, 
Feathers  of  richest  hue ! 

I  daily  spat, 

And  social  chat, 
Gaily  with  neighbors  too!" 

Your  royal  crest, 

And  fine  blue  vest, 
Feathers  of  richest  hue! 

Are  very  fine, 

Much  more  than  mine, 
I  grant  that  all  to  you! 


AWD  OTHER  POEMS.  89 

"  But,  coxcomb  bold, 

Loquacious  scold  — 
Given  to  aspersion ! 

There's  scarce  a  bird, 

'Mong  all  I've  heard, 
Hath  not  for  thee  aversion. 

"Aye,  bird  so  gay, 

Let  me  this  say, 
Known  I  am  by  my  song ; 

Where'er  I  fly 

Welcome  am  I  — 
Not  so  your  finical  throng." 


90  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

REJECTED. 

There  is  no  word  that  one  can  find 
That  gives  more  anguish  to  the  mind, 
Though  each  word  be  inspected, 
As  this  one,  cruelest  of  its  kind  — 
Rejected. 

To  man  who  earns  his  daily  bread, 
Each  day  doth  labor  without  dread,— 
Life's  hardships  hath  suspected  ; 
Could  more  remorseless  word  be  said— 
Rejected ! 

For  are  not  all  men  here  below, 
Entitled  to  some  little  show 
In  life  to  be  protected  ? 
How  cruel  then  must  be  the  blow  — 
Rejected ! 

Inhuman  word !  Where'er  thou  art, 
You  wound  the  aching,  sobbing  heart, 

Who  with  life's  cares  dejected 
Doth  sorrow  underneath  thy  smart  — 
Rejected  ! 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  91 

FAIL  NOT. 

Fail  not,  my  Child, whose  pathway's  sown 
With  fortune's  smiles  and  flowers, 

To  help  the  poor  less-favored  one 
Beguile  the  weary  hours. 

And  fail  not,  Man,  throughout  this  life, 

To  do  what  good  you  can ; 
The  struggle's  long,  and  fierce  the  strife, 

Help  then  thy  fellow-man  ! 

Mother,  fail  not  thy  child  to  raise, 

Who  will  this  world  control, 
To  sing  of  Him  in  songs  of  praise  — 

The  giver  of  his  soul. 

Father,  thy  son  fail  not  to  teach 
When  first  young  life  buds  forth; 

Life's  highest  stations  he  may  reach, 
Success  the  effort's  worth. 

Ah,  some  may  search  but  fail  to  find 

The  ladder-rounds  of  fame  ; 
But  none  need  fail  to  leave  behind 

A  pure  and  spotless  name. 


92  BIRCH-HOD  DAYS 

CUPID  AND  DEATH. 

Cupid,  the  God  of  Youth  and  Love, 
Weary  of  play  and  faint  with  heat, 

Wandering  down  into  Death's  Grove, 
Into  his  grotto  beat  retreat. 

Beautiful  darts  as  ever  graced, 
Sent  from  the  angel  world  above, 

Cupid  had  in  his  quiver  placed  — 

Piercing  arrows  of  Youth,  and  Love. 

Down  on  the  floor,  in  careless  haste, 
Cupid  thought  there  to  rest  him  well ; 

The  lovely  arrows  therein  placed 
Soon  from  their  shining  quiver  fell  j 

And  scattered  o'er  his  cave,  pell-mell, 
Death  had  arrows  of  exquisite  make : 

Cupid,  waking,  could  never  tell 

His  own  from  Death's, or  which  to  take. 


Death's  darts  with  Love,  and  Love's  with 

• 
Death, 

Were  now  mingled  in  luckless  ruth ; 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  93 

Tho'  sweet  sometimes,  the  poisonous  breath 
Of  old  grim  Death  isn't  good  for  Youth  ! 

And  since  that  day  Love  has  been  blind 

Seemingly,  to  every  fate  j 
A.nd  Love  is  now  to  Death  resigned, 

Often  choosing  him  for  a  mate. 

And  Death  has  kissed  Love's  young  and 
old, 

No  matter  how  timid  or  shy : 
Death  since  with  Youth  is  very  bold, 

And  never  passes  Love  by. 


94  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

THE  FELON'S  DREAM. 
Slumbering  I  lay  in  prison  cot, 

In  peaceful  dreams,  all  woes  forgot. 
Repose !    How    sweet !    'Twas    scarcely 

marred 
By  heavy  tramp  of  prison  guard. 

Back  to  my  home  in  dreams  I  went; 

Back  to  that  place  I  childhood  spent; 
Mingling  there  in  merriest  glee 

Again  with  those  quite  dear  to  me. 

I  clasped  in  fond  embrace  once  more 
A  mother's  form  !  Heard  her  implore 

In  bitter  anguish,  God  to  spare 
A  truant  son  — an  only  care  ! 

Friendly  faces  were  gathered  around, 
Welcoming  home  a  lost  one  found  ; 

I  had  resolved  to  quit  my  sin  — 
I  felt  a  change  of  heart  within  ! 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  95 

It  was  a  dream  —  and  when  I  'woke 
The  walls  of  prison  on  me  broke; 

I  felt  to  dry  a  felon's  face 

Saddest,  dreariest  of  his  race  ! 

I  said :  "This  cruel  fate  seems  hard!" 
'Twas  only  mocked  by  tramp  of  guard. 

Gruel's  the  pang  !  Deep  is  the  sting ! 
A  lonely  cell  to  felons  bring ! 

Deal  not  harshly!  Speak  not  ill! 

Fate  was  'gainst  him  — 'gainst  him  still  j 
Who  sleeps  behind  this  prison  wall  :— 

There's  none  so  strong  but  what  may  fall. 


96  BIRCH-EOD  DAYS 

SWEET  LADY,   I  LOVE  THY  FAIR 

FACE. 
Sweet  lady,  I  love  thy  fair  face, 

And  wish,  oh  wish,  that  it  were  mine ; 
For  beauty,  form,  and  lovely  grace 

Is  now,  and  ever  will  be  thine ! 

The  night  with  lowering  clouds  and   dark 
Has  beauteous  flashings  in  the  sky  j 

But  e'en  the  brilliant  lightning's  spark 
Will  not  match  the  luster  of  thine  eye! 

And  yet,  sweet  lady,  kind  and  true, 

Why  I  adore  thy  face, 
I  seek  the  rose  in  morning's  dew, 

Alone  pure  innocence  to  trace. 

God  has  implanted  in  our  breast 

A  love  for  all  that's  pure ; 
Life's  pleasures  man  may  go  in  quest  — 

Alone  doth  woman  lure. 


AND  OTHER   POEMS.  97 

THE  SUNNY  SOUTHERN  HOME. 

I  ever  love  to  see 

The  sweet  magnolia  tree 
Dance  its  leaves  in  the  breezes  of  the  morn  • 

Where  the  sun  will  ever  glow, 

And  gentle  zephyrs  blow 
O'er  the  fields  of  cotton  and  the  corn. 

'Tis  nature's  sweet  retreat, 
Where  lovers  gladsome  meet ; 

Daisies  in  the  springtime  there  first  come ; 
And  the  ever-blooming  rose 
Is  free  from  wintry  snows, 

In  the  dear  old  sunny  southern  home. 

You  wander  where  you  will, 

Its  memory  ever  still 
Will  cling  to  your  heart  as  you  roam  • 

For  birds  are  ever  gay 

In  sweetly  singing  lay, 
In  the  dear  old  sunny  southern  home. 


98 


BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 


And  the  true  hearts  we  there  find 

Will  ever  us  remind, 
There  is  on  earth  no  other  dome, 

So  dear  to  every  heart, 

Compelled  from  there  to  part, 
As  the  dear  old  sunny  southern  home. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  99 

MINE,  ONLY  MINE. 

Wilt  thoti  not  be  my  dearest, 

As  we  journey  down  life's  stream  j 
And  be  to  me  the  nearest, 

My  fondest  hope  and  dream? 
Oh,  tell  me  that  you  love  me, 

And  be  forever  mine  ; 
By  the  Heavens  above  thee, 

I  pledge  my  heart  to  thine ! 

By  the  evening  shadows, 

When  the  sun  sinks  in  the  west ; 
By  the  bloom  of  meadows, 

I  will  vow  to  love  tbee  best ! 
Ever  will  I  adore  thee, 

True  love  it  is  divine; 
Oh,  list  while  I  implore  thee, 

Be  mine,  only  mine! 

Let  others  love  the  morning, 

With  the  sun  and  beauty's  light ; 


100  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

The  smile  now  thee  adorning 
Is  to  me  a  sweeter  sight. 

Oh,  love  is  like  a  flower  — 

Plucked  from  the  stem,  it  dies, 

While  in  its  sylvan  bower 

On  earth  naught  more  we  prize. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  101 

AUTUMN  LEAVES. 

See  the  Autumn  leaves  go  flying, 

Flying  with  the  swift-winged  breeze ; 

And  the  winter  winds  are  sighing, 
Sighing  to  the  leafless  trees  ! 

Hear  them  as  they  gently  rustle ; 

Watch  them  chase  each  other  'round  : 
They  are  ever  in  a  bustle 

Dancing  o'er  the  green-turfed  ground. 

See  them  in  the  air  go  sailing, 
As  the  whirlwind  sucks  them  on : 

Hear  them  rattle,  like 't  were  hailing, 
Battle,  rattle  on  the  lawn  ! 

Helpless  are  the  little  leaflets ; 

To  be  carried  soon  away 
Far  adown  the  swirling  streamlets; 

There  to  perish  and  decay. 

True  in  life  all  things  must  perish ; 

Ever  bright  the  morning's  dawn  ; 
Still,  life's  fondest  hopes  we  cherish 

Decay  like  leaves  upon  the  lawn. 


102  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

MADIE  GKEEN. 

In  the  twilight  of  an  evening, 

In  the  dear  old  month  of  June, 
When  the  air  was  filled  with  fragrance  — 

When  the  roses  were  in  bloom ; 
I  met  by  chance  a  maiden, 

Fair,  fair  as  ever  was  seen, 
And  I  loved  her  from  that  moment  — 
Pretty,  pretty  Madie  Green. 
Never  was  a  lovelier  lady, 
None  fairer  have  I  seen 
Than  my  little  dark-eyed  Madie  — 
Pretty,  pretty  Madie  Green. 

True,  there  is  in  life's  oasis, 

One  sweet  solace  given  man  — 
'Tis  a  pure  and  spotless  woman, 

She  who  all  our  sorrows  can 
Make  light  as  gentle  zephyrs 

As  they  whisper  to  the  trees, 
When  the  leaflets  softly  rustle, 

Fanned  by  the  summer's  gentle  breeze. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  103 

Never  was  a  lovelier  lady, 
None  fairer  have  I  seen 

Than  my  little  dark-eyed  Madie  — 
Pretty,  pretty  Madie  Green. 

The  rose,  our  fairest  flower, 

Where  the  bee  will  ever  come, 
Gathering  sweetness  every  hour, 

To  bear  unto  its  home  — 
Will  not  equal  pretty  Madie, 
Tho'  it  be  of  loveliest  hue, 
And  we  gather  flower  and  leaflet 
Bathed  in  morning's  early  dew. 
Never  was  a  lovelier  lady, 
None  fairer  have  I  seen 
Than  my  little  dark-eyed  Madie  — 
Pretty,  pretty  Madie  Green. 

While  now  I  sit  in  silence, 

O'er  other  days  I  con, 
I  remember  still,  with  sadness, 

That  summer's  day  now  gone; 


104  BIKCH-ROD  DAYS 

1  remember  her  dark  tresses ; 

Her  bright  and  lustrous  eyes  ; 
But  her  loving,  dear  caresses, 
Most  of  all  I  highly  prize. 
Never  was  a  lovelier  lady, 
None  fairer  have  I  seen, 
Than  my  little  dark-eyed  Madie 
Pretty,  pretty  Madie  Green. 

Still  the  clouds  will  gather  o'er  me, 

As  I  murmur  this  my  song ; 
And  I  pray  thee,  Lord,  restore  me 
To  the  girl  I've  loved  so  long ; 
And  when  this  life  is  ended, 

And  I'm  borne  away  to  rest, 
May  my  spirit  there  be  blended 
With  the  one  I  loved  the  best. 
Never  was  a  lovelier  lady, 
None  fairer  have  I  seen, 
Than  my  little  dark-eyed  Madie  - 
Pretty,  pretty  Madie  Green. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  105 

SLEEP  AND  HOPE. 
When  the  world  is  dark,  and  all  is  drear, 
And  there  is  naught  to  cheer  us  here; 
When  friends  prove  false,  and  fickle,  too, 
And  the  things  we  love  are  dimmed  to  view; 
Sweet  comforter,  let  my  weary  head 
Be  couched  upon  thy  pillowy  bed  ; 
Then  waft  me  in  ethereal  dreams, 
And  take  me  'way  from  earthly  themes; 
While  angel-images  hover  'round, 
O  peace,  be  mine,  in  sleep  so  sound  ! 

Take,  take  me  from  this  world  afar, 
And  thou  sweet  Sleep,  as  guiding-star, 
Wilt  thou  not  find  some  place  above. 
Where  all  is  hope,  where  all  is  love? 
Where  all  is  gladness,  all  is  joy, 
And  cares  of  life  no  more  annoy? 
Where  man  to  brother  can  be  just? 
Where  all  are  honest— all  can  trust? 
Where  cheat  and  strife  can  harm  no  more ; 
And  war's  dread  conflicts  all  are  o'er? 


106  BIRCH-HOD  DAYS 

Where  fear  our  vision  ne'er  can  fright, 
And  is  dispelled,  like  day  doth  night ; 
All  life's  imagined  ills  are  gone, 
Unlike  the  sun,  no  more  to  dawn! 
Where  malice  with  resentless  eye, 
Thirsts  not  to  make  more  misery; 
And  misanthropy  is  not  found, 
To  mar  our  joys  the  season  'round, 
Making  us  miserable  without  hope, 
As  vainly  on  with  life  we  cope? 

Where  is  no  sadness,  that  doth  rend 
The  heart  full  sore  with  tears,  and  blend 
It  with  despondency  and  despair, 
To  make  earth's  beings  wretched  as  they 

are? 

Where  jealousy,  which  we  oft  endure, 
That  rather  would  the  sun  obscure, 
Than  see  another  enjoy  its  light  — 
Emulous  of  all  who  seek  the  right — 
Is  gone  forever  —  sin-cursed  mien, 
Whenever  hated,  wherever  seen  ? 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  107 

Where  scorn  and  envy  both  must  toil  — 
Green  monsters  of  earth's  sinful  soil  — 
Till  their  necks  goad  blue  with  disdain  ? 
Another's  pleasure  is  to  them  pain. 
Where  pride,  disdainful,  cold  and  chill, 
Becomes  subservient  to  our  will ; 
And  contempt,  bitter,  which  doth  deride, 
Is  humbled  like  its  neighbor,  pride  ? 
Where,  changed  to  mercy,  all  may  feel 
The  bitter  pangs  they  used  to  deal? 

A  heavenly  thing,  O  Sleep,  to  dream, 
And  let  the  troubled  spirit  gleam 
And  beam  in  brightness!  Shine  afar  — 
Since  Hope  is  now  our  guiding-star ! 
Pandora,  careless  of  man's  want, 
Let  from  her  jar  life's  ills,  to  haunt 
Our  visions,  pleasures,  passions,  joys, 
With  fears,  adversities,  griefs,  annoys, 
That  follow,  as  through  life  we  grope  — 
The  lid  was  closed  alone  on  Hope! 


108  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

THE  TRAITOR  BIRD. 
"Let  me  go,  good  Master  Falconer," 

A  little  Quail  once  said  ; 
Who  being  caught  within  a  net, 

Thought  thus  to  save  its  head. 

"I  will  decoy  some  other  quails, 

At  least  a  dozen  more, 
And  get  them  safely  in  your  net, 

If  you  will  ope'  your  door." 

"No,"  cried  the  man, "I'll  not  let  out, 
Whate'er  I  might  have  done, 

The  treacherous  bird  within  my  net ; 
The  traitor  shall  not  run ! 

There  is  no  death  too  hard  for  him 

Who  will  a  friend  betray  ; 
And  I'll  not  spare  you,  traitor  bird, 

To  live  another  day !" 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  109 

THE  WORLD  IS  COLD,  SO  DREARY. 

The  world  is  cold,  so  dreary, 

Few  warm  hearts  do  we  find ; 
Life's  path  to  me  is  weary, 

And  troubled  is  my  mind. 
Oh,  I'm  so  sad  to-day,  Mary, 

Clouds  hover  o'er  and  o'er; 
I  think  alone  of  thee,  Mary, 

Alone  thee  1  adore. 

I  wieb  sometimes  myself,  Mary, 

In  the  cold,  damp  grave,  at  rest ; 
Where  sleeps  the  dead  in  peace,  Mary, 

Calm  and  Heavenly  blest. 
Where  no  taunts  and  jeers  are  heard, Mary, 

Where  no  foe  can  ever  blame ; 
Where  rich  and  poor  are  clothed,  Mary, 

In  nature's  garb  the  same. 

I  sometimes  think  and  fear,  Mary, 
There's  no  better  world  than  this ; 


110  BIRCH-KOD  DAYS 

That  man  who  is  sin-cursed,  Mary, 
Can  e'er  hope  to  reach  bliss! 

But  we  know  the  Savior's  promised 
If  we  hearken  to  his  call, 

He  will  bid  us  welcome,  enter, — 
There's  room  'above  for  all. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  Ill 

THE  WABASH. 

Beautiful  river  by  Hutson, 

With  thy  silvery  sheet  of  blue; 

Ever  sluggishly  moving  onward 
Like  a  panoramic  view. 

While  now  I  trace  thy  meandering  course 
From  the  old  Town  down  to  the  bend, 

A  feeling  of  sadness  comes  o'er  me 
As  the  journey  onward  I  wend: 

To  think  of  the  scenes  of  my  childhood, 
Of  the  ones  who  used  to  stray 

Along  with  me  down  the  river's  banks, 
Where  now  I  stroll  to-day 

To  watch  for  the  landmarks  of  boyhood, 
And  find  that  the  river's  surge 

Swept   them    away — like  the  friends  of 

youth, 
The  winds  sigh  only  the  dirge. 


112  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Once  gaily  adown  thee,  old  river, 

In  his  birchen  bark  canoe, 
Floated  the  Indian  warrior, 

With  his  maiden  of  dusky  hue. 

Upon  thy  banks  were  his  councils, 
Around  brightly  glowing  fires ; 

The  mossy  mounds  near  the  river's  brink 
The  graves  of  ancestral  sires. 

The  warrior  has  gone  from  thy  forests, 
And  his  race  is  almost  run ; 

Driven  by  the  white  men  westward 
With  the  course  of  the  setting  sun. 

But  thy  grand  old  oaks  and  thy  elms, 
That  were  once  his  shelter  and  pride, 

Still  nod  to  the  rippling  waters 
As  they  grow  by  the  river's  side. 

Flow  on,  O  beautiful  river ! 

Flow  gently  on  to  the  sea ; 
I'll  watch  thy  waters  a  little  while  — 

Then  the  Master  will  summon  me. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  113 

WHO  MAY  SEKVE  WELL. 

A  lion  was  intent  on  sleep, 

When  o'er  his  limbs  a  Mouse  would  creep ; 

Angered,  he  caught  it  with  a  sweep, 

And  chiding,  said  ; 
"Tis  useless,  Mouse,  in  tears  to  weep, 

Til  strike  you  dead  !" 

Piteously,  with  tearful  eye, 

The  mouse  then  made  this  sad  reply: 

"Oh,  master!  Do  not  let  me  die! 

I  can  repay 
The  life  you  spare,  even  I, 

The  act  some  day !" 

Despicably  small  he  thought  him  j  so, 
Laughing,  the  lion  let  him  go; 
Saying,  "Mouse,  I'll  spare  you,  though 

If  with  my  paw 
I'd  strike  you  just  a  little  blow, 

I'd  crush  your  jaw !" 


114  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Shortly  after,  it  chanced  one  day, 

The  lion  was  pursuing  prey. 

Some  hunters  who  had  come  that  way 

Set  nets  they  brought.. 
The  lion,  bounding  lithe  and  gay, 

Was  in  them  caught. 

The  lion,  fast,  set  up  a  roar. 
Hearing,  the  mouse  ran  nimbly  o'er, 
And  meshes  binding  limbs,  now  sore, 

Began  to  gnaw; 
From  off  the  lion  quickly  tore 

With  little  jaw. 

Thankful,  the  lion,  now  more  wise, 
Said,  ' '  Little  things  we  oft  despise, 
In  after  life  we  highly  prize  ; 

For  none  can  tell, 
Simply  in  judging  by  the  size, 

Who  may  serve  well !" 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  115 

DRONES  vs.  BEES. 
Once  in  a  Nisi  Prius  court, 

Judge  Wasp  called  up  a  case, 
A  suit  about  some  honey-comb, 

Among  the  insect  race. 

The  action  was  replevin, 

Some  drones  sued  out  the  writ, 

Claiming  both  honey  and  the  comb, 
Which  the  bees  could  not  admit ; 

But  pleaded  property  in  themselvss, 
And  property  in  their  queen  j 

Non  cepit,  non  detinuit,  too, 
On  property  had  a  lien. 

Each  party  then  a  jury  waived, 

The  issues  being  closed ; 
To  try  the  case  before  the  judge, 

Both  Darties  then  proposed. 

Judge  Wasp  then  said:  "You  are  alike, 

In  color,  shape  and  size- 
I'll  test  the  case  by  evidence, 

lu  manner  seeming  wise. 


116  B1RCH-KOD  DAYS 

I'll  give  unto  you  each  a  hive. 
To  make  new  comb  and  cell ; 

When  filled,  the  honey  I  will  taste  — 
Go  quick  and  do  it  well !'' 

The  bees  assented  to  the  plan, 
And  comb  began  to  make : 

The  drones  kept  idle,  to  a  man, 
To  work  they  would  not  take. 

"'Tis  plain  to  see,  unto  the  bee 

The  honey  does  belong, 
I'll  adjudge  the  case,  upon  its  face, 

Unto  the  working  throng. 

* '  For  he  who  can  not  make  the  comb, 
The  honey  should  not  claim; 

On  every  issue,  bees  have  won ;" 
Judge  Wasp  then  gave  them  same. 

'Tis  thus  the  idle  always  lose, 
They're  worthless,  to  a  man  ; 

If  to  succeed  in  life  you  choose, 
To  work's  the  only  plan. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS-  117 

DAME  FOKTUNE. 

O'ercome  with  fatigue  from  journey  long, 

A  young  man,  weary  and  tired,  fell 
Quite  fast  asleep,  on  the  very  brink 

Of  a  deep  and  dangerous  well. 
Dame  Fortune,  seeing  the  danger,  said  : 

"Wake  up, wake  up, wake  up,  my  man!" 
And  rousing  him  from  his  slumber,  then 

Said,  chiding,  "Sir,  all  of  your  clan 
Blame  me  quite  often  for  troubles,  when 

The  folly  is  simply  with  you  men !" 

"  You  see, the  censure  is  thrown  upon  me 

By  all  of  the  human  kind ; 
When  in  truth,  I  know  and  always  see 

The  most  of  them  go  it  blind ! 
Great  calamities  which  them  befall, 

Is  folly  they  bring  of  their  own; 
Irnputable  to  me  ?    Not  at  all, 

I  wish  I  could  make  it  known  — 
All  more  or  less  masters  are  of  fate, 

Must  think  for  themselves,  not  on  me 
wait !" 


118  BIRCH-ROt)  DAYS 

Dame  Fortune  then  went  tripping  away, 

Singing  sweetly  this  merry  song : 
"  Men  mortal,  I  cannot  with  you  stay, 

Yet  I'll  frequently  join  your  throng : 
Tho'  I'm  fickle  as  fickle  can  be, 

Try  me  ever  to  court  and  wed, 
By  the  use  of  sense  and  industry, 

My  favors  around  you  I'll  shed: 
For  those  who  court  fortune,  well  should 
know 

The  idle  and  vicious  have  no  show." 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  118 

AYAKICE. 

The  world  is  full  of  men  who  try  in  vain, 
Without  much  effort  riches  to  obtain  j 
Who  risk  in  folly  the  little  they  possess, 
And  bring  themselves  to  penury  and  distress. 
Never  content  with  what  the  Lord  doth  give, 
They'd  rather  starve,  than  not  in  affluence  live. 

Avarice  will  get  us  into  trouble, 

When  we're  too  anxious  wealth  to  double  j 

Into  wealth's  door  we  sometimes  gain  ingress 

To  find  we've  lost  the  little  we  possess  : 

Becoming  greedy  beyond  all  measure, 

We  lose  our  all  seeking  more  treasure. 

A  certain  man,  I  read  in  fable  old, 
Possessed  a  goose,  that  laid  an  egg  of  gold 
Each  day— an  income  stated,  all  his  days  — 
The  best  of  incomes  —  one  that  certain  pays  • 
But  dissatisfied  with  this  fortune  slow, 
He  killed  the  goose,  her  treasures  all  to  know. 


120  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Within  he  thought  a  wealth  of  gold  to  see, 
But  found  her  the  same  as  any  goose  would  be; 
The  man  so  miserly  was  quick  to  rue  it, 
Forsooth  he  lost  a  fortune  through  it. 
Risk  not  thy  all,  lest  it  may  go  by  stealth 
In  vainly  trying  to  amass  great  wealth. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  131 


THE  THRUSH. 

Sweet  messenger  of  morning,  I  love  well 
Thy  piping  notes  of  fitful,  fervent  glee! 
Swinging  aloft  on  topmost  limb  of  tree ; 
Soft  as  flute  tones  thy  bird-song  on  me  fell  • 
Then  like  the  tinkling  of  a  distant  bell 

Thy  sweet  notes  die,  and  echoes  come  to  me, 
Soothing  the  morning  dreams  delightfully, 
As  rose  the  sun  the  dawn  of  day  to  tell. 
Sing,  warbler,  sing!  To  stay  is  thy  delight 
In  shaded  dells  where  runs  the  babbling  brook, 
O'erhung  with  alder  bush ;  where  'tis  thy  right 
To  hide  thy  nest  in  wild-vined  laurel  nook; 
Each  lovely  morn  of  spring,    O  bird  so  bright, 
I  will  for  thee  listen:  for  thee  I'll  look. 


123  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 


UNION  IS  STRENGTH. 

A  family  of  sons  a  father  had 

Who  perpetually  treated  each  other  bad; 

And  no  exhortations  would  take  from  their  sire, 

But  constantly  gave  some  vent  to  their  ire. 

Determined  to  illustrate  the  ills  of  dissension, 

To  a  bundle  of  sticks  he  called  their  attention, 

Then,  giving  the  bundle  to  each  in  succession  — 

"Break  it!"  he  cried.   They  made  no  impression. 

Then  out  of  the  bundle,  each  a  single  stick  took. 

"Break  it!  "  he  cried.   The  stick  easily  broke. 

Then  he  addressed  them:   "My  sons,  if  you  are 

United  in  mind,  and  never  at  war, 

Like  a  bundle  of  sticks,  well  bound  together, 

Success  of  the  one  means  success  of  the  other." 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  123 

IDLY-HEEDING. 

4 'Leave  off  crying,  this  instant,  or  I'll  throw 
You  out  at  the  window,  to  the  "Wolf  below !" 
"  What!  I  recognize  the  voice  of  the  nurse- 
As  I  am  hungry  I  might  fare  worse  ; 
What  would  be  more  excellent  than  a  fine  fat  child," 
And  the  greedy  Wolf  looked  up  and  smiled: 

Thinking  the  nurse  as  good  as  her  word, 
To  wait  for  the  child,  the  Wolf  preferred  • 
For  the  hungry  Wolf  had  searched  all  that  day 
In  vain  for  food  till  he  came  that  way : 
And  he  waited  there  till  the  day  was  done, 
And  darkness  came  with  the  setting  sun. 

As  the  twilight  shades  stole  into  the  house, 

The  lovely  child  was  still  as  a  mouse ; 

Save  singing  its  lullaby  sweet  as  a  lark  — 

Going  to  sleep  with  the  evening  dark  : 

Fondling  her  child  the  nurse  said  in  a  low  breath  : 

"If  the  Wolf  comes  now,  I'll  beat  him  to  death!" 


124  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

But  the  words  were  caught  on  the  dewy  air 
By  the  Wolf,  who  heard  them  with  despair ; 
Disappointed  and  hungry  he  turned  to  go, 
Muttering  these  words  in  accents  low  : 
"  This  comes  by  heeding  those  who  ofttimes  say 
Things  they  never  intend,  day  after  day !" 


AND  OTHEU  POEMS.  125 

OUR  FAITHFUL  SERVANTS. 

A  hound,  now  old,  but  one  that  for  his  master  long 
had  toiled  • 

One  who  in  his  earlier  days  by  game  was  never 
foiled  • 

Worn  out  by  weight  of  years,  by  toil,  by  trouble 
and  decay, 

Went  with  his  master  hunting  the  wild  boar,  joined 
in  the  race 

And  mingled  in  the  sports  of  other  days,  the  much- 
loved  chase! 

He  boldly  seized  the  boar,  and  fanged  it  in  the  ear, 
When  strength  gave  way,  the  boar  escaped,  caused 

by  declining  year: 
Quick  to  him  came  the  master,  and  angry  said  : 

"I'll  thrash  thee!" 

The   feeble   dog  replied :   ' '  Master,  'twas    but   my 

strength  that  failed  me, 

Not  my  will.  Spare  thy  old  servant !  Remember  me 
of  yore  ! 


128  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Think  of  me  as  I  was  then,  abuse  not  now,  take 
pity,  I  implore! 

"  Oh,  Master!  many  are  the  days  for  thee  I've  toiled 
when 

Thou  in  poverty  was  struggling  helpless  as  I  was 
then ! " 

And  faithful  servants  who  have  proven  their  merit 
many  ways 

All  should  remember  well,  and  help  in  their  declin 
ing  days ! 


•   • 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  127 

-  •      ' •  •     i  J       i 

THE  DANCING  KID.    . 

Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  Dancing  Kid 

That  strayed  from  the  herd  when  its  mother  forbid? 

Well,  it  left  the  fold  on  a  summer's  day 

And  determined  to  go  away,  away: 

Away  from  its  home  in  quest  of  fun, 

For  it  was  never  content  with  the  herd  to  run. 

But  there  is  many  a  pitfall  —  many  a  snare 
To  the  young  in  life  who  are  unaware; 
Though  brave  and  honest  the  girl  or  boy, 
Life's  full  of  vices  that  will  destroy: 
And  the  Dancing  Kid  was  soon  pursued 
By  a  great  old  Wolf,  which  him  subdued. 

So  there  is  many  a  victim  allured  by  sin, 
Deeming  life  but  short,  joins  the  hideous  din  • 
And  for  a  passing  pleasure  —  a  fleeting  show  — 
Risks  endless  misery —  eternal  woe. 
The  Dancing  Kid,  deeming  life  but  short, 
Asked  the  Wolf's  indulgence  in  a  merry  sport. 


lio  P.IRCH-ROD    DAVS 

"If  you  pipe  — I'll  dance,"  said  the  Dancing  Kid; 
And  the  Wolf  piped  loud  as  he  was  bid; 
His  great  jaws  swelling  as  he  blew  entranced, 
While  the  Dancing  Kid,  danced  and  danced : 
As  each  sweet  vibration  rolled  away 
The  Wolf  did  loud  and  louder  play. 

But  the  music  was  heard  by  Dogs  hard  by  — 
The  Wolf  growled  these  words,  as  he  turned  to  fly: 
"Who  steps  out  of  his  way  to  play  fool,  is  not  wise. 
And  must  never  wonder  if  he  loses  the  prize : 
Like  children  who  do  what  mothers  forbid," 
A  narrow  escape  had  the  Dancing  Kid. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  129 

SPARE  THE  ROD  AND  SPOIL  THE  CHILD. 

I  can  see  King  Solomon,  seated  upon  Israel's  throne, 
Rich  in  lands,  and    gold,  and   jewels,  with    every 
thing  his  own 
That  mortal  man  could  ask  or  wish,  that  was  upon 

the  earth, 
That  surely  would  be  calculated  to  give  the  king 

great  mirth  j 

But  wonder  you,  King  Solomon,  with  his  humanity, 
Should  exclaim, u  Alas!  alas!  Vanity  !  Allis  vanity!" 

Seven  hundred  wives  had  Solomon,  of  princely  high 

degree, 
I  doubt  if  Mormon  elder  had  more  merry  wives 

than  he  !  [the  king, 

But  his  children  acted  dreadfully,  and  worried  sore 
To  whip  them  well  all  'round  each  day  he  thought 

the  proper  thing  • 
"Chasten  thy  son   while  there  is  hope,  thy  soul 

spare  not  his  crying ! " 
Was  a  truth  when  Solomon  wrote,  perhaps  there's 

no  denying. 


130  BTRCH-ROD  DAYS 

While  this  time-honored  proverb,  by  Israel's  greatest 

king, 

Evidently  was  considered  then  quite  the  proper  thing, 
"Correct  thy  son,  he  shall  give  thee  rest  and  delight 

thy  soul ! " 
"The  rod  and-reproof  give  wisdom  ! "  his  youth  he 

might  cajole, 
But  not  a  Yankee  child  to-day— away  such  nonsense 

wild, 
At  this  most  ancient  maxim  :   "Spare  the  rod  and 

spoil  the  child  !  " 

Oh,  how  I  used  to   dread  it,  in   my   youthful   days 

gone  by, 
When  every  one  would  quote  it,  with  blood  right  in 

their  eye  ; 

And  with  a  tender  feeling,  akin  to  Beelzebub, 
With  a  ferule  or  a  hazel  they  viciously  would  drub ; 
And  the  music  of  the  refrain,  as  it  floated  away  in 

air, 
Was  but  tears  of  simple   childhood,  which  I  was 

loath  to  bear  I 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  131 

A  MERCILESS  MIND. 
Meeting  a  Lamb,  when  out  walking  one  day, 
Knowing  the  Lamb  from  its  fold  was  astray, 
A  "Wolf  thus  addressed  him:  "Hear,  sir  ! 
You  grossly  insulted  me  last  year,  sir!" 
Bleated  the  Lamb,  in  mournful  suspense  : 
"Indeed,  you're  mistaken,  I  had  not  come  hence." 

Then  said  the  Wolf  :   "  You  feed  on  my  clover, 
A  thing  IVe  forbidden  you  over  and  over ! " 
Bleated  the  Lamb  :   "Your  pasture's  not  wasted 
For  clover's  a  thing  1  never  have  tasted." 
Again  said  the  Wolf :    "You  drink  from  my  well; 
What  the  injury  is  I  scarcely  can  tell." 

"Mother's  milk,"  said  the  Lamb,  "is  my  food  and 
my  drink;  [think." 

IVe  not  drank    at   your   well;  you're    mistaken,  I 
"Ah,"  said  the  Wolf,  "I  cannot  find  plea 
To  eat  him,  that  seemingly  justifies  me; 
Still  I'll  seize  him  and  eat  him,  although  he  refute 
Everything,  thus  far,  to  him,  I  impute." 


A  wicked,  tyrannical,  merciless  mind, 
Some  pretext  for  evil  always  will  find. 


132  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 


A  GUEST  OF  THE  CLUB. 

Exceedingly  clever  !  and  without  any  parade, 
Wonderfully  expert  in  handling  a  spade 
In  games,  which  he  plays  ;  while  in  wielding  a  club, 
No  one  is  more  daring  when  playing  the  rub ; 
Then,  in  playing  a  hand,  has  hearts  to  command : 
Few  owning  more  diamonds  than  were  held  in  his 

hand ! 

He  is  very  convincing!  Cards  nestle  about  — 
Make  his  acquaintance,  should  you  have  any  doubt ! 

In  dealing  the  cards,  with  a  kindly  regard 

For  himself,  the  game  he  will  ofttimes  retard ; 

And  while  the  best  of  players  are  sitting;  close  by, 

In  a  manner  mysterious,  tho'  sly  ; 

Will  obtain  from  the  deck,  cards  almost  a  peck, 

Proceeding  his  clothes  to  slyly  bedeck  ! 

And  just  how,  when  and  where,  he  got  those  two 

pair, 
Make  the  most  of  us  secretly  swear ! 


AND  OTHER   POEMS.  133 

Then  the  bat  of  that  eve !  Delusive  and  sly, 

You  cannot  ever  catch  it,  nor  can  I  j 

'Tis  convincing  too  late,  as  I  witness  our  fate, 

That  most  of  our  lives  are  predestinate! 

Why,  if  some  one  would  give  us  two  dozen  packs, 

Neither  you,  nor  could  I,  get  more  than  two  jacks; 

Then,  when  he  would  call  us !  It  would  appall  us 

To  meet  the  calamity  which  would  befall  us ! 

Sad  are  reflections !  Many  times  I  have  wished, 
When  back  in  disgust  my  chair  I  have  pushed, 
That  my  eyes  were  not  better  at  night  — 
As  I  would  witness  some  brother's  sad  plight ; 
For  none  could  keep  pace  with  four  kings   and  an 

ace  — 

Tho'  stealing  one  king— a  burning  disgrace— 
With  a  flush,  he  said  was  a  "sequent"— 
Which  to  me  were  amazingly  frequent ! 

His  raise  of  that  blind  was  remarkably  good, 
As  I  quickly  discovered  after  I  stood  ! 
Then  the  Doctor  sat  down,  with  face  all  aglow  — 
All  doctors  seem  wise,  even  little  they  know  — 


136  BIUCH-ROD  DAYS 

Aching  our  hearts,  our  diamonds  home  sleeping, 
Till  the  dawn  of  the  morning's  silently  peeping. 

Lovely's  the  morning  —  refreshing  pure  air; 
The  sun  brightly  beaming,  new  born,  as  it  were; 
But  the  sky  may  be  clear,  the  morning  serene, 
Not  so  I  fear  one  who  rules  home  as  a  queen. 
Oh,  the  thing  that  we  dread  is  that  gentle  surprise  - 
Disguising  our  look  — from  her  languishing  eyes! 
Have  you  experience  ?  Aye,  there  is  the  nib 
In  staying  out  late  with  "A  Guest  of  the  Club." 


AND  OTHER  POEMS,  137 

TRANSFORMATION. 
In  the  days  of  yore  the  gods  possessed  great  power 

o'er  all  the  clan, 
They  could  change  the  bird  into  a  beast,  the  beast 

into  a  man. 
It  is  said  the  beasts  in  love  became,  as  the  instance 

which  I  cite, 
Of  a  cat,  that   deeply  fell  in  love,  with  man  her 

fate  to  plight. 

And  she  besought  immediately,  Venus,  the  goddess 

old  — 
Prayed  to  be  transformed  into  a  maid,  to   him  her 

love  unfold. 
Venus,   pitying,   changed    her  form   to   that  of   a 

maiden  fair, 
With  pearly  teeth,  and  swan-like  neck,  and  beautiful 

golden-hair. 

Then  quickly  she  sought  her  lover,  as  maidens  have 

always  done, 
And  won  him  with  her  beauty,  as  the  maidens  have 

ever  won. 


138  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

But  their  honeymoon  was  not  over  nor  settled  in  a 

place, 
When  Yenus  said:  k' I've  changed  her  form — of  the 

cat  is  there  a  trace  ?  " 

While  reclining  in  her  chamber,  with   her   lover  by 

her  side, 
The  lovely  youth  that  she  had  won,  now  enamored 

of  his  bride  — 
Venus  then  let  a  little  mouse  drop  at  the  maiden's 

feet  — 
She  sprang  from  the  bed  in  quick  pursuit,  intent  to 

catch  and  eat ! 

When  Venus   again  transformed  her.  "  What's  bred 

in  the  bone,"  she  said, 
"Will   ever   appear  in   the  flesh,  haven't   I   often 

read  ?  " 
"The  cat,  to  a  woman,  I'll  never  transform  —  that's 

not  my  plan  — 
Its  nature  I'll  give  to  woman,  — and  woman* I'll  give 

to  man." 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  139 

THE  MAN  OF  DIGNITY. 
Have  you  never  seen  him  as  he  comes  with  solemn 

pace, 

Proudly  to  the  forum,  in  some  important  case, 
Always  sitting  upright,  with  grave  and  serious  mien, 
Not   seeming  to  augur  usefulness  —  merely  to  be 

seen? 

Giving  to  great  occasions, both  of  Church  and  State, 
By  his  august  presence  — simply  pristine  weight? 

Aye,  have  you  never  seen  him,  sitting  at  the  bar, 
Stroking  his  big  whiskers,  looking  graver  far 
Than  any  of  his  fellows,  who,  with  jolly  air, 
Find  a  pleasure  giving  him  the  conspicuous  chair! 
Grandly  he  looks,  majestic,  while  he  rarely  talks; 
You  discern  his  wisdom,  as  he  sits  or  walks  ? 

Ah,  you  have  seen  him,  although  you've  never  heard 
Anything  of  greatness  •    he  seldom  says  a  word ; 
It  is  said,  in  speaking,  he  loses  all  that  charm 
That  gently  hangs  about  him,  and  shields  the  man 
from  harm : 


138  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

But  their  honeymoon  was  not  over  nor  settled  in  a 

place, 
When  Yenus  said:  iC  I've  changed  her  form — of  the 

cat  is  there  a  trace  ?  " 

While  reclining  in  her  chamber,  with  her   lover  by 

her  side, 
The  lovely  youth  that  she  had  won,  now  enamored 

of  his  bride  — 
Venus  then  let  a  little  mouse  drop  at  the  maiden's 

feet  — 
She  sprang  from  the  bed  in  quick  pursuit,  intent  to 

catch  and  eat ! 

When  Yenus  again  transformed  her.  "  What's  bred 

in  the  bone,"  she  said, 
"Will   ever  appear  in   the  flesh,  haven't   I  often 

read?" 
"The  cat,  to  a  woman,  I'll  never  transform  —  that's 

not  my  plan  — 
Its  nature  I'll  give  to  woman,  —  and  woman* I'll  give 

to  man." 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  139 

THE  MAN  OF  DIGNITY. 
Have  you  never  seen  him  as  he  comes  with  solemn 

pace, 

Proudly  to  the  forum,  in  some  important  case, 
Always  sitting  upright,  with  grave  and  serious  mien, 
Not   seeming  to  augur  usefulness  — merely  to  be 

seen? 

Giving  to  great  occasions, both  of  Church  and  State, 
By  his  august  presence  —  simply  pristine  weight? 

Aye,  have  you  never  seen  him,  sitting  at  the  bar, 
Stroking  his  big  whiskers,  looking  graver  far 
Than  any  of  his  fellows,  who,  with  jolly  air, 
Find  a  pleasure  giving  him  the  conspicuous  chair! 
Grandly  he  looks,  majestic,  while  he  rarely  talks; 
You  discern  his  wisdom,  as  he  sits  or  walks  ? 

Ah,  you  have  seen  him,  although  you've  never  heard 
Anything  of  greatness  •    he  seldom  says  a  word; 
It  is  said,  in  speaking,  he  loses  all  that  charm 
That  gently  hangs  about  him,  and  shields  the  man 
from  harm : 


140  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

For  this  man  of  dignity  can  never  bear  the  crosses 
That  fall  to  other  men.  without  sustaining  losses. 

He  ventures  few  opinions,  lest  those  opinions  might 
Make  his  apparent  wisdom  become  a  little  trite  • 
And  you  rarely  ever  see  him  try  a  hard-fought  case, 
For  fear  his  seeming  dignity  he  might  thus  efface ; 
But  he  adds  a  presence,  and  always  holds  the  fort, 
The  most  pompous  personage  that  comes  before  the 
court. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  141 


YALOR 

A  beautiful  Fawn  once  said  to  a  Stag, 
Grown  old  and  mischievous,  given  to  brag, 
Stamping  his  foot  and  shaking  his  head 
Causing  the  herd  considerable  dread: 
"Pray  sire,  are  you  not  very  largo  and  strong' 
Possessed  of  horns  with  many  a  prong? 
Horns  that  are  spreading  —  horns  immense? 
Horns  that  are  useful  in  self-defence? 
fou  have  wind  for  either  a  race  or  jog, 
You  are  swifter  in  running  than  the  dog; 
Then  why  is  it,  Stag  ?    have  you  such  fear, 
When  you  see  the  hound,  or  his  baying  hear? 

"  O  lovely  Fawn  !  "  said  his  Stagship  old, 
4iAltho'  to  my  herd  I  seem  fierce  and  bold, 
Altho'  I'm  vigorous  and  have  skill, 
Resolve  with  the  hound  to  grapple  at  will, 
To  show  my  courage,  and  in  future  strife 
Gore  deeply  the  hound  and  take  his  life! 


143  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Demonstrate  now  and  for  all  future  time 
Courage  and  valor  while  in  my  prime. 
Ah!    so  soon  as  I  hear  the  sound  of  his  voice 
Seemingly  there  is  left  no  other  choice; 
My  spirits  fail,  I  cannot  tarry  me, 
Off  I  go  fast  as  my  legs  can  carry  me. 

Argument  to  cowards  no  courage  e'er  gave  — 
Reason  alone  convinces  the  brave. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  143 

POLLY,  YOU  TALK  TOO  MUCH. 

Polly  was  a  bird  well  trained  to  talk, 
Could  mimic  a  whistle  —  anything  mock; 
Would  scream  at  a  dog;   yell  at  the  cat: 
Away  went  Pussy  when  Poll  cried  "Scat!" 
The  dog  would  go  at  her  words:  "Come  here!" 
"  Clear  out,  you  rascal!"  would  run  thro'  fear. 

But  a  spaniel  dog,  whose  name  was  Mudge, 
Was  going  down  street  with  a  stately  trudge; 
When  Poll,  on  Mudge  thinking  a  trick  to  play, 
Spoke  these  words  in  a  jocular  way: 
u  Sic  her,  Mudge !  Sic  her!  "  as  he  passed  her  by— 
"Sic,  you  rascal,  Sic!"— then  turned  to  fly. 

Mudge  turned  like  a  flash,  as  might  be  inferred, 

And  wiped  the  earth  with  that  saucy  bird. 

It  seemed  that  Poll  would  not  hold  together, 

Or  quit  the  fight  with  a  single  feather: 

Tho'  Mudge  ran  off  when  Poll  cried  "Get  out!" 

The  life  of  the  parrot  was  one  of  doubt. 


144 


BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 


Then  hobbling  up  on  some  steps  of  stone, 
With  a  bleeding  wing  and  a  broken  bone; 
She  mused  to  herself,  as  well  she  might, 
.Regarding  her  conduct  which  brought  the  fight 
"I  think," said  Poll,  "this  beats  the  Dutch, 
Tho'  the  truth  is,  Polly,  you  talk  too  much ! " 

It  was  many  a  day  ere  Poll  recovered, 
'Twixt  life  and  death  for  a  long  time  hovered  • 
And  when  once  more  Poll  was  well  and  gay, 
As  she  ate  her  cracker,  strange  words  would  say: 
At  least  to  the  children  they  appeared  as  such, 
When  Poll  would  tell  them:  "Don't  talk  too  much  !" 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  145 

THE  SMILE  OF  WOMAN. 

Life's  pathway  is  thorned,  tho'  with  roses  adorned, 

The  struggle  is  hard  for  man ; 
Yet  cheerful  he  seems,  and  hardships  he  deems 

A  part  of  God's  wisdom  and  plan. 
And  thanks  for  the  love  of  our  Ruler  above, 

Who  gave  one  solace  below, 
Made  earth's  desert  isle,  by  woman's  sweet  smile, 

A  place  even  happy  'mid  woe. 

Hope  ever  beams  bright,  like  a  beacon  light, 

Cheering  us  onward  through  life  j 
Not  till  gloom  on  us  breaks,  and  sorrow  o'ertakes, 

We  falter  and  flee  from  earth's  strife. 
It  is  then  woman's  smile  will  ever  beguile 

Sorrow  away  from  man's  heart  • 
May  the  day  never  dawn  when  her  smile  shall  be 
gone, 

And  we  from  it  forever  must  part. 

Life's  shadows  are  cast,  and  on  us  fall  fast, 
Like  shades  of  the  evening  to  stay  ; 


146 


BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 


And  weary  of  strife,  in  the  sunset  of  life, 
Man  rests  from  the  cares  of  the  day. 

Then,  like  lilies  so  fair,  sun-kissed  in  the  air, 
The  smile  of  woman  will  leaven ; 

In  the  age  of  decline,  when  pressed  by  old  Time, 
Woman  makes  life  to  us  Heaven. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  147 

THE  DISASTROUS  CROSSING. 

I  hear  complaint,  that  our  neighbor's  cow, 

That  in  venturing  sees  a  passing  train; 
And  in  trying  to  make  the  crossing  — how  ? 

In  front  of  an  engine — Alas,  in  vain! 
For  the  engineer,  in  a  reckless  way 

Drives  his  engine  —  a  deadly  missile, 
With  the  pilot  catching  any  cow  astray, 

Never  ringing  a  bell  or  sounding  whistle! 
Why  on  McShane's  crossing  last  Saturday  night, 

Number  Six,  a  passenger,  two  hours  late, 
Caught  Smith's  best  Jersey,  and  killed  outright 

His  old  milch  cow  with  a  loitering  gait. 

What  a  pity  it  is  these  trains  won't  stop 
For  the  old  milch  cow  with  a  loitering  gait; 

That  Knights  of  the  Engine,  with  clubs  don't  hop 
And  scare  the  cow— let  passengers  wait; 

For  time  is  nothing  —  Aren't  the  crossings  free? 
Don't  laws  of  the  State  permit  cows  to  roam ; 


148  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

To  eat  np  gardens,  hook  the  maple  tree; 

Ditch  trains  on  crossings  while  coming  home  ? 
But  what  does  it  matter  a  train  be  thrown 

From  off  the  track  with  its  human  freight ; 
A  fireman  killed, — a  broken  bone, — 

By  the  old  milch  cow  with  a  loitering  gait  ? 

And  what's  it  matter, —  an  engineers  fear; 

A  passenger  killed  by  this  cruel  fate ; 
That  millions  of  property  be  lost  each  year 

By  the  old  milch  cow  with  a  loitering  gait. 
The  State  still  pastures  this  grand  old  cow; 

The  streets  and  the  cross^^seem  always  free ; 
Roads,  sidewalks,  bridges  —  all  subservient  now 

To  the  old  milch  cow  and  her  company; 
Wouldn't  the  saving  of  millions,  now  spent  in  fence, 

Preventing  the  ditching  of  passengers,  freights, 
Be  not  a  sufficient  recompense, 

For  keeping  up  cows  with  loitering  gaits? 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  149 

RECOMPENSE. 

A  Wolf,  with  a  bone  stuck  fast  in  his  throat, 
Offered  a  Crane  a  twenty-pound  note; 
Promising  pay,  when  the  bone  should  be  drawn 
From  the  muscular  throat  of  the  "Wolf  so  brawn. 

The  long-necked  Crane, 

For  the  love  of  gain, 
Into  his  throat  put  her  head  so  stout 
And  instantly  drew  the  bone  right  out! 

"Your  money  now,"  said  the  greedy  Crane. 
"  I  now  have  relieved  you  from  all  pain, 
Surely  sir !  I  want  my  reward  ?" 
"Do  you  think,"  said  the  Wolf,  "My  word  I  re 
gard?" 

His  teeth  ever  winding 

'Mid  grinning  and  grinding, 
"  You  surely  already  have  quite  recompense 
From  the  jaws  of  a  Wolf  your  head  to  take  hence.'' 


150  BIRCH-KOD  DAYS 

A  CHARIVARI. 

The  meon  was  rising,  peeping  through 
The  lovely  sky,  with  its  azure  blue; 

For  the  hour  was  late,  eleven  had  sped, 
Ere  the  guests  and  hosts  retired  to  bed  j 

While  the  seeming  stillness  of  the  night, 
To  the  host  and  hostess  gave  delight. 

The  village  boys  before  had  heard, 
Joshua  Judkins  had  caged  a  bird  ; 

And  the  leader  cried:    "I'll  put  the  question, 
Isn't  a  charivari,  boys,  a  good  suggestion?'* 

When  out  there  rang  in  ringing  notes, 
"Aye!  aye!"  from  many  lusty  throats. 

Said  Jimmy  McShane,  the  butcher's  son, 
"I've  a  bucket  of  blood,  hurrah  for  fun! 

We'll  pour  it  around  the  house,  then  see 
The  cows  give  Joshua  a  charivari." 

The  blood  was  poured  all  over  the  grass. 
And  the  gates  left  open  for  cows  to  pass. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  151 

Brown's  brindle  cow  was  the  first  that  bawled; 

Then  her  yearling  heifer  loudly  called  j 
While  fifty  steers  from  Thompson's  clover 

Threw  down  the  fence  and  went  rushing  over; 
The  village  cows  furnished  new  recruits  — 

A  hundred  strong,  the  bellowing  brutes. 

Joshua,  from  his  nuptial  bed  did  rouse, 
Hearing  the  noise  of  the  bellowing  cows, 

In  a  garment  red,  with  club  quite  stout, 
Fearlessly  rushed  to  drive  them  out; 

His  good  bride  watching,  yelled:   "Murder,  Fire!" 
As  Joshua  ran  from  their  vengeful  ire! 

The  cry  was  heard,  by  night-watchman  caught  — 
The  cry  of  fire! — full  of  evil  fraught; 

And  in  night's  stillness  the  fire  bell  rang, 

Its  thundering  clatter  went  Clang!  clang!  clang! 

While  neighbors  ran  in  their  clothes  of  night, 
As  they  only  run  in  a  panic's  fright ! 

Meeting  Jemmy  as  they  rushing  came, 

He  bade  them  "stiddy!"  there  wa8  no  flame! 


162  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

The  bell  was  rung  by  some  paltroon, 
After  welcomin'  Joshua's  honeymoon! 

While  the  boys  were  on  a  bit  of  a  spree; 
And  the  cows  were  givin'  a  charivari!" 

Again  and  again,  was  the  sight  unique, 

As  they  pawed  and  bellowed  in  wild  freak ; 

And  assistance  was  of  no  avail 

When  a  cow  once  struck  the  bloody  trail! 

They  pawed  and  bellowed— tore  the  ground; 
Bewailing  the  air  with  moaning  sound! 

Then,  at  the  approach  of  the  morning's  light, 
When  the  sun  rose  up,  full,  round,  and  bright ; 

The  blood  all  covered,  content  to  yield, 
Each  steer  strolled  back  to  his  clover  field. 

Each  cow  went  bawling  home  to  her  calf, 
Leaving  J  oshua  with  his  better  half. 


AND  OTHEK  POEMS.  153 


CAUTION. 

A  Ewe  unto  her  darling  said, 

"Now,  my  Lamb,  as  you  have  been  fed, 

I'll  take  me  hither  to  the  mead, 

And  try  to  find  myself  some  feed  ; 

While  I  am  gone,  you  watchful  be 

That  harm  may  never  come  to  thee." 

"What  shall  I  do,  pray  mamma  dear, 
When  you  are  gone,  if  Wolves  I  hear  ?" 
The  mother  said:  "Ah,  precious  child, 
Fear  not  the  Wolves  when  roaming  wild; 
Stay  in  the  fold,  ope'  not  the  door, 
As  I  have  told  you  oft  before." 

"  But  mamma,  should  a  playmate  come  ?" 
"Do  not  answer,  but  be  quite  dumb; 
Unless  they  give  this  watchword,  fear  — 
'A  curse  on  the  Wolf,  he  may  be  near.' ' 
A  Wolf  was  strolling  by  and  heard  — 
Remembered  well  the  Lamb's  watchword. 


154  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

The  mamma  gone,  the  Wolf  came  hence 
To  give  the  pass  and  make  pretense ; 
"A  curse  on  the  Wolf,  he  may  be  near  !" 
Then  to  a  crack  he  placed  his  ear. 
"Ay  sir,  I  hear  the  'pass,'  'tis  right; 
Show  now    the    'sign,'    'A    foot    that's 
white.' " 

The  Wolf,  without   white  feet,    was    as 
tounded, 

And  went  his  way, somewhat  confounded, 
To  think  a  Lamb  would  caution  show, 
Demanding  "pass"  and  "sign  "  to  know  ! 
The  Lamb  in  showing  prudence  rare, 
Deprived  the  Wolf  of  mutton  fare. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  155 

DISCONTENT. 

Some  timid  Hares  were  in  alarm ; 
In  constant  fear  of  coming  harm; 
Resolved  one  day  in  desperation 
To  rid  themselves  of  all  vexation. 
"Enemies  will  each  day  annoy; 
And  snares  will  be  set  us  to  decoy ; 
Or  else  by  hounds  we'll  be  pursued; 
Our  helpless  race  will  be  subdued." 

The  leader  did  to  all  propose 
A  way  to  rid  themselves  of  woes ; 
"We'll  to  a  precipice  all  go 
And  jump  into  the  lake  below." 
So  off  they  started,  running  fast  — 
Each  leap  was  made  like  'twere  the  last- 
Each  Hare  to  seek  a  watery  grave  — 
Life's  troubles  bury  'neath  the  wave. 

Upon  the  banks  a  school  of  Frogs, 
With  scarce  a  care,  on  sunny  logs, 


156  BIRCH-KOD  DAYS 

Heard  their  approach  with  great  affright, 
And  each  one  jumped  with  all  his  might— 
Into  the  bottom  of  the  lake, 
As  quick  as  legs  could  bodies  take. 
"Hold  up!"  cried  the  leading  Hare, 
Our  case  is  not  one  of  despair! 

"For  here  are  others  more  faint-hearted 
That  by  our  running  we  have  started! 
We'd  best  not  do  as  first  intended  !" 
So  back  each  Hare  his  own  way  wended  : 
Finding  more  timid  creatures  sent 
On  earth,  the  Hares  were  more  content 
To  wrestle  with  the  cares  of  life : 
For  each  doth  daily  have  his  strife. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  157 

LABOK  HAS  ITS  REWARD. 

A  Heifer  was  watching  an  Ox  one  day, 
When  the  Ox  was  hard  at  work  j 

While  the  Heifer  was  bounding  about  at 

play 
She  would  frequently  laugh  and  smirk. 

And  taunt  the  Ox  with  reflections 

On  his  very  unhappy  fate : 
in  being  compelled  to  labor 

From  early  until  late. 

Shortly  after  was  the  harvest  home : 
Then  the  owner  the  Ox  released : 

While  the  Heifer  was  bound  with  strong 

cords, 
To  be  slain  at  the  harvest  feast. 

The  Ox  said  unto  the  Heifer, 
As  her  owner  drove  her  away : 

"  For  this  you  were  in  idleness 
So  long  allowed  to  stay : 


158  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

I've  noticed  one  thing  all  my  life 
The  idle  may  flourish  awhile ; 

But  an  evil  day  will  take  them  away  — 
Good-bye !"  said  the  Ox,  with  a  smile. 

Then  let  us  always  remember, 
And  thro'  life  it  always  regard  : 

There  is  no  one  thing  truer  here  on  earth  - 
Than,  "Labor  has  its  reward." 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  159 

IN  CONTEMPT. 

Into  a  trial  court,  by  chance,  one  day, 
Two  Irish  gentlemen  did  idly  stray; 
His  Honor  was  calling  a  case  between 
Tiraotheus  Smith  versus  John  McQueen. 
Counselor  Jennings, with  a  bald  old  pate, 
Began  the  jury  to  interrogate; 
First,  tendering  four,  to  Counselor  Clair, 
Whose  shining  cranium  was  minus  hair. 

"Arrah!  Ted,"  said  Pat,  to  his  Irish  mate, 
uBe  the  powers  that  be— these  men  ornate, 
Who're  tryin'  the  case,  are  wather  scald ; 
Fa'th!  the  skelps  o'  the  lawyers  both  are 

bald! 
I'll  bet"—"  Order!  gentlemen,"  roared  the 

judge; 
"  Orther !"  cried    Pat,   giving    Teddy   a 

nudge. 

"  Bring  up  the  culprits  before  the  court ! " 
"What  fer,  Yer  Honor?"  was  the  quick 

retort. 


1«0  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

"Let  a  fine  be  entered  for  contempt!" 
"Contimpt?     Why!     Yer    Honor, 'twas 

niver  drimpt! 

I  was  merely  offerin'  my  brother  Ted, 
To  wager  a  bit  on  the  lawyer's  head ; 
Whin,  Yer  Honor,yers'lf  did  fret  an'  frown 
I  was  goin'  to  put  five  dollars  down 
That  the  bald-headed  lawyer  would  win 

the  case, 
Divil  I'll  bet -if  it  offinds  Yer  Grace." 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  161 

FLATTERY. 

An  old  thievish  Crow,  devoid  all  fear, 
Had  stolen  cheese  from  a  cottage  near, 
The  dainty  morsel  the  Fox  could  see 
As  the  Crow  flew  over  into  a  tree. 
"Well!"  said  the  Fox,  "I  humbly  con 
fess, 

Cheese  is  a  thing  I'd  love  to  possess  j 
But  how  to  succeed  I  hardly  know 
Unless  it  be  to  flatter  the  Crow." 

Then  he  exclaimed:  "How  handsome  the 

Crow  ! 

In  beauty  no  bird  where'er  I  go 
Will  excel  her  !  In  form  perfection  ! 
The  fairest  of  fair  her  complexion  ! 
But  oh,  what  a  horrid,  horrid  voice  ! 
If  it  equaled  her  beauty,  Crow's  choice 
Of  all  the  birds  for  a  ruling  queen, 
For  the  Crow's  a  bird  fine  as  I've  seen ! " 


162  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

The  foolish  Crow,  anxious  to  refute 
Reflections  cast  by  the  wily  brute  • 
Then  let  go  her  cheese,  and,  la,  la,  la! 
Began  an  unearthly,  "Caw,  caw,  caw  !" 
Snapping  it  up:   "It  is  quite  a  meal 
For  a  hungry  Fox,  better  I  feel;" 
"And   good    Crow, "said   the  Fox,  now 

taunting, 
"Your  voice  is  good,  but  wit  is  wanting!" 

It  is  well,  dear  friends,  by  this  to  see 
A  flatterer  lives  on  flattery, 
And  will  flatter  not,  without  some  aim; 
And  should  you  heed  him,  who  is  to  blame? 
The  Crow  was  quite  slow  to  comprehend 
Between  a  real  and  pretended  friend; 
And  hungry  went  — that  day  was  living 
On  fulsome  praise  the  Fox  was  giving. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  163 

INTEGRITY. 

A  thief  one  night  came  to  a  yard, 

A  house  to  break  for  booty, 
But  found  the  House-Dog,  there  a  guard 

Intent  on  doing  duty. 
"  Here,  fellow,"  throwing  him  some  meat, 

"Come  here,  sir!  Stop  your  alarm. 
Fine  old  Dog  !  Why  do  you  not  eat  ? 

Why  bark?  Sir,  I  mean  no  harm. " 

"This  sudden  kindness, "sir,  of  yours, 

These  favors  unexpected, 
To  one  who  guards  his  master's  doors, 

Must  promptly  be  rejected. 
Ah,  sir !  you  have  some  private  ends 

To  accomplish  for  your  gain. 
On  integrity  all  depends ; 

To  betray,  sir,  I  disdain." 

Oft  in  this  life  it  is  the  case, 

We  have  a  place  of  trust  and  care, 


164  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

There's  nothing  more  will  us  disgrace 

Integrity  then  to  spare! 
'Tis  pleasure  gone  at  heavy  cost  — 

Betraying  trusts  when  given, 
Respect  of  all  on  earth  we've  lost,— 

And  worthless  sure  for  heaven! 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  165 

BEST  LOOK  BEFORE    YOU  LEAP. 
A  Fox  which  fell  into  a  well, 

Was  casting  all  about • 
For  'twas  quite  hard  for  him  to  tell 

Just  how  he  should  get  out. 

A  Goat  came  to  the  well  and  stood 

Wanting  a  little  drink, 
Asked  Reynard:   "Was  the  water  good?'' 

And,  «  Plenty  did  he  think?" 

Said  Fox,  dissembling  his  sad  plight ; 

"Come  down,  my  friend,  and  see; 
"I  think  'twould  give  you  much  delight, 

'Tis  cool  as  it  can  be." 

Down  leaped  the  Goat,  head, horns  and  all,- 
The  Fox  jumped  on  him  quick; 

Out  of  the  well,  over  the  wall, 
Was  now  a  simple  trick. 

Then  spake  the  Fox :  ' '  Had  you  the  brain s 
You  have  of  woolly  beard, 


166  BIRCH-ROD  DATS 

You  would  be  often  spared  the  pains 
Leaping  at  what  you  heard !" 

"For  life's  at  best  a  constant  steep  ! 

"Tis  hard  to  climb,  who  can  ? 
Then,  always  look  before  you  leap 

Is  much  the  wiser  plan!" 


AND  OTHEK  POEMS.  167 

HELP. 

Once  a  youthful  bather 

Bathing  in  the  sea, 
Called  to  a  traveler: 

u  Oh,  come  save  me! " 

For  the  little  bather 

Was  going  down,  down,  down; 
Down  to  feed  the  fishes ; 

To  drown,  drown,  drown! 

Very  unconcernedly 

Stood  the  traveler  there, 
Telling  the  little  bather: 

"  Of  water  to  beware ! " 

"It  very  imprudent  was, 
Unless  that  he  could  swim  • 

To  go  into  deep  water  — 

That  much  he'd  say  to  him ! " 

"Oh,  sir! ''  cried  the  bather, 
' '  Help,  help  me !  ere  I  go ; 


BIRCH-ROD  DATS 

You  may  scold  me  ever  after — 
But  save  me  now  from  woe!" 

The  traveler  him  admonished; 

The  boy  sunk  out  of  sight  • 
And  was  never  more  permitted 

Again  to  see  the  light: 

So  I  say  that  counsel 

Without  help's  of  little  use  j 
When  one  needs  a  helping  hand 

Words  are  a  poor  excuse. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  169 

MOLLITER  MANUS  IMPOSUIT. 

A  client  to  his  lawyer  said 
Another  had  with  club  his  head 
Pounded  and  beaten  on  his  skull, 
Until  his  senses  all  were  dull. 
And  hence,  to  have  his  wrongs  corrected, 
As  well  as  all  his  rights  protected, 
He  merely  now  had  called  to  see 
The  law's  appropriate  remedy. 

The  lawyer  quickly  glanced  to  look 
And  took  from  off  his  shelf  a  book ; 
Then  with  his  pen  began  to  write, 
These  words  on  paper  did  indite: 
John  Smith,  the  plaintiff,  here  complains 
Of  James  Jones,  defendant,  and  maintains 
That  on,  etc.,  with  force  and  arms 
Defendant  perpetrated,  to  wit,  harms. 

He  violently  seized  the  plaintiff's  hair, 
Then  pulled  and  tore  till  scalp  was  bare  • 


170  BIRCH-HOD  DAYS 

Then  with  his  fists  struck  many  blows, 
Resulting  in  a  bunged-up  nose ; 
Then  having  downed  him  with  a  brick, 
He  did  the  plaintiff  kick  and  kick; 
The  damage  done  to  shirt  and  collar, 
Was  of  the  value  of  one  dollar. 

By  means  which,  the  plaintiff  hurt  and 

bruised, 

Sick,  sore  and  lame,  thus  badly  used, 
Physician's  bill  he  has  incurred, 
One  hundred  dollars  is  averred; 
And  other  wrongs,  to  plaintiff,  great, 
As  well,  the  people  of  the  State, 
Wherefore,  the  plaintiff,  injured,  sues— 
One  thousand  will  his  wrongs  excuse. 

First  plea:  Not  guilty;  Second:  'tis  said 
Molliter  manus  imposuit,  was  plead, 
That  is,  defendant  but  gently  laid 
His  hands  upon   the  plaintiff,    and   him 
stayed 


AND  OTHER  POEMS-  171 

From  striving  with  force  and  arms  to  beat 
His  neighbor  Green  in  passion's  heat; 
The  plaintiff's  trespasses  above  narrated, 
He  verifies  were  those  here  stated. 

Then  to  the  jury  did  each  counsel  show 
Defendant's  zeal  and  plaintiff's  woe;   j 
Then  to  the  jury  plaintiff's  counsel  came 
And  said:  Defendant,  by  his  plea,  admits 

his  blame; 

Molliter  manus  imposuit  was  the  plea, 
Filed  by  the  counsel,  let  it  translated  be: 
Molliter,  he  mauled,  manus,  the  man,  to  wit, 
My  client,  and  on  him  imposed  —  imposuit. 


172  BIRCH-ROD  DATS 

HYPOCRISY. 

A  Wolf,  bitten  by  dogs,  wounded,  lay 

In  liis  lair  almost  asleep  : 
When,  perchance,  a  Sheep  astray, 

Into  the  lair  did  peep. 

"Maimed  sorely  I  am,  my  friend  — 
The  fever  running  high  tide — 

Pray  fetch  me  some  water,  and  then 
Myself  with  meat  I'll  provide." 

"A  fine  idea!"  the  Sheep  replied; 

"  If  I  should  bring  you  the  draught 
I  for  you,  too,  meat  will  provide, 

The  instant  I  am  caught. 

Looks  deceitful  avoid, 

And  hypocritical  speech, 
If  never  by  these  annoyed 

Life's  highest  stations  you'll  reach. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS  113 

THE  FARMER'S  SOLILOQUY. 
The  autumn  days  are  upon  us, 

The  leaves  look  yellow  and  sear; 
And  cold  chilly  winds  that  blow  on  us 

Make  a  fellow  feel  shaky  and  queer. 
But  the  corn's  full  ripe  and  resplendent, 

With  ears  'most  as  big  as  cordwood; 
And  crops  upon  which  we're  dependent, 

This  year  are  uncommonly  good. 

And  the  stock  is  all  fat  in  the  pasture, 

For  the  rains  that  came  down  cleared 

away 
The  drouth,  that  had  weighed  with  disaster, 

Giving  the  chinz  bug  carnival  sway: 
Aye,  thanks  to  the  rain  that  descended, 

And  grew  up  the  vine  and  the  gourd; 
Things  this  season  are  happily  blended, 

And  God  blessings  upon  us  has  poured. 

And  turkeys!  Why,  gobblers  are  struttin' 
Everywhere  up  and  down  the  lot, 


174  •    BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Never  dreaming  Christmas  will  be  puttin' 

Them  on  to  our  tables  hot! 
The  potatoes  are  placed  in  the  cellar, 

Tomatoes  and  berries  all  canned; 
With  apples,  the  finest,  and  meller; 

That  ever  were  raised  in  the  land! 

The  farmer  ought  to  be  happy, 

If  you  let  him  alone  he  will; 
And  while  his  corn  may  be  sappy, 

There's  plenty  in  every  hill. 
But  it  seems  like  trusts  and  combines. 

The  tariff,  jute  plant,  and  all, 
With  freights  so  extortionate  sometimes, 

The  farmer  goes  to  the  wall! 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  175 

AN  EPISODE. 

She  cried,  and  O  her  tears,  how  sweet! 
Her  handsome  form  was  trim  and  neat. 
When  asked  the  reason  of  the  fuss, 
Her  only  answer  was,  "That  Gus!" 

0  speak!  I  said  —an  answer  came  — 
"No,  no  sir!  little  he's  to  blame. 

A  kiss,  he  stole,  it  was  no  muss — 

1  cried,  forsooth,  because  that  Gus  —  " 

I  said  again,  "A  stolen  kiss 

From  such  a  fair  and  handsome  miss, 

Is  battery  in  the  first  degree ! " 

Her  answer, — "What !  Gus  kissing  me?" 

Quoth  I  to  her,  "He  well  doth  know, 
A  stolen  kiss  is  but  a  blow. 
A  grave  offence,  I'd  fine,  as  judge!" 
Her  sweet  reply  to  me  was,  "Fudge!" 


178  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

LUXURY  AND  EASE. 

O  Luxury,  I  long  for  thee!g 

And  beckon  Ease  come  live  with  me— 

Then  will  I  be  content! 
There's  little  else  man  wants  below, 
Few  will  ever  that  little  know  — 

'Tis  Heaven's  choice  blessing  sent. 

'Tis  not  a  luxury  I  crave, 

In  indolence  and  wealth  to  lave— 

A  life  I  would  deplore; 
For  bonds,  nor  gold,  lull  not  to  rest 
The  anguish  of  a  troubled  breast, 

Nor  bring  content  in  store. 

Not  for  the  ease  of  idle  thought 
Which  wealth  hath  its  possessor  taught, 

Longs  now  my  heart,  nor  sighs; 
But  O  the  Ease  I  long  to  taste 
Is  with  content  to  be  well  graced, 

Such,  treasure  never  buys. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

Aye,  fawning  man!  thy  sordid  mind 
In  pomp  of  power  expects  to  find 
*     True  ease  and  rich  repose. 
'Tie  only  when  thy  cup  is  filled, 
With  bitter  dregs  life  has  distilled, 
The  emptiness  then  shows. 

The  tallest  oak  must  bend  and  break 
Before  the  storms  that  will  o'ertake, 

Though  seeming  ever  strong; 
The  proudest  warrior  in  his  power 
Will  crumble  like  the  castle's  tower— 

Be  silent  dust  ere  long. 

Ah,  Luxury  and  Ease,  I  ween 
Comes  from  a  happy  go  between  — 

Seek  not  to  emulate 
The  one  who  thirsts  alone  for  Fame, 
For  Gold,  or  an  Undying  Name — 

Have  pity  for  such  fate! 

Aye,  happiness  you'll  find  most  dear, 
If  found  in  life,  is  always  near, 


178  BIRCH-BOD  DAYS 

No  matter  where  you  roam ; 
You  seek  for  Ease  in  distant  climes ; 
And  Luxury  in  propitious  times  — 

To  find  them  at  thy  Home. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS-  179 

ALLIE. 

Last  night,  in  dreams,  I  saw  her  face, 
Her  darling  form  to  me  was  near; 

Her  beauty,  charms  and  lovely  grace 
Brought  to  my  eyes  a  gladsome  tear. 

Allie,  I  thought,  was  with  me  there, 
And  our  two  hearts  beat  now  as  one, 

In  bliss  and  happiness  we  were 
From  twilight  until  morning's  sun. 

In  childish  sports  we  mingled  o'er, 
And  we  of  Nature's  sweets  partake  • 

She  was  to  me  the  same  as  yore, 

I  loved  her  for  love's  own  sweet  sake. 

'Twas  but  a  dream  that  to  me  came— 
A  fleeting  dream  — 'tis  come!  'tis  fled! 

Would  I  were  yet  in  bliss  the  same, 
With  my  lost  Allie  dear,  instead. 


180  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

THE  LITTLE  PHYSICIAN. 

There  is  no  type  of  man 

Among  all  I  can  scan, 
Assumes  such  a  mystical  air, 

As  the  little  physican  — 

A  kind  of  magician  — 
A  man  of  some  unction,  as  'twere. 

He  is  always  quite  dapper, 
Remarked  as  a  snapper, 

Important  in  the  superlative  degree ; 
And  when  called  to  a  case, 
Assumes  such  a  wise  face, 

You  are  struck  with  the  wisdom  you  see! 

Polite,  to  a  fault, 

He  bows  should  you  halt, 
And  tips  a  small  hat  which  he  wears ; 

With  his  pill-bags  and  cane, 

Tho'  seemingly  vain, 
'Tis  only  his  knowingsome  airs. 


AND    OTHER  POEMS.  18] 

When  he  visits  the  ill, 

With  powder  and  pill, 
Prescribes  for  a  patient  with  brains; 

His  bump  of  conceit 

Is  the  first  thing  you  meet, 
As  you  lie  there,  racking  with  pains. 

As  an  expert,  I  ween, 

No  other  I've  seen, 
Can  theorize  in,  and  then  out; 

A  hypothetical  case, 

He  states  with  such  grace, 
As  convinces  beyond  reasonable  doubt. 

But  his  faults  are  all  laid, 

Where  the  willow's  deep  shade 
Obscures  them  forever  from  view, 

As  you  pause  to  reflect, 

And  can  only  suspect 
The  devil  will  some  day  get  his  due. 

For  there's  no  type  of  man 
Among  all  I  can  scan, 


'182  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Assumes  such  a  mystical  air, 

As  the  little  physician  — 
A  kind  of  magician  — 

A  man  of  some  unction,  as  'twere. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  183 

WHAT  IS  LIFE? 

Is  life  not  an  empty  bubble ; 

But  an  iridescent  dream  ? 
Only  a  wave  of  trouble 

Pushing  man  along  the  stream  ? 

Is  life  real,  or  a  fancy  spell 

To  men  mortal  given, 
That  teaches  to  abhor  a  hell, 

And  to  adore  a   heaven? 

Can  it  be  said  the  daily  task 

Of  mortals  here  below, 
If  'twere  exposed  without  a  mask 

Would  many  pleasures  show? 

Will  not  the  toiler  for  his  bread, 
Who  bends  the  same  each  day, 

Still  have  the  same  enduring  dread 
Of  starvation's  debt  to  pay? 

'Tis  ever  toil,  and  ever  strife, 
From  morn  until  the  sun 


184  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Closes  the  evening  of  our  life, 
And  Man  his  race  has  run! 

Yet,  still  this  life  is  full  of  Hope, 
And  he  who  battles  strong, 

Is  able  with  the  world  to  cope  — 
Happy  as  he  goes  'long. 

'Twas  made,  that  we  might  toil  and  plan 
For  our  existence  here, 

God  will  reward  the  struggling  man- 
Let  each  be  of  good  cheer. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  185 


MY  MARY. 

My  Mary  is  a  charming  girl, 
I  will  not  underrate  her ; 

So  fair  is  she  that  a'  the  rest 
Wi'  spite  and  envy  hate  her. 

O  deep  is  an  artesian  well, 
And  deeper  yet  the  ocean; 

Still  deeper  in  my  bosom  is 
My  love  and  my  devotion. 

I'll  gather  daisies  in  the  spring, 
To  glad  her  heart  with  flowers ; 

On  leafy  trees  the  birds  will  sing, 
While  we  sit  'neath  the  bowers. 

The  honey-bee  still  sips  and  sips 
The  honey  frae  the  rose, 

But  I  ha'  found  upon  her  lips 
Far  sweeter  honey  grows. 


186  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

'Tis  her  I  wish  some  day  to  wed, 
My  darling  little  fairy; 

The  violets  blue  and  roses  red 
I'll  pluck  and  gie  my  Mary. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  187 


CHANGES. 

To  think  the  changes  that  take  place, 
What  time  will  bring  around; 

You  look  now  on  some  boyish  face  — 
The  future  man  of  town. 

Some  boy  who  once  was  very  poor, 

Fortune,  the  fickle  Dame, 
Knocks  at  his  splendid  mansion  door, 

And  tells  us  of  his  fame ! 

And  Fortune  whispers  with  joy  and  pride, 

In  accents  clear  and  loud: 
"Should  my  favors  be  on  your  side, 

Be  thou  not  vain  nor  proud. 

"  For  humble  yet  thy  lot  may  grow; 

Act  wisely  every  day; 
And  learn  a  lesson  •  'tis  well  to  know 

That  Fortune  may  fly  away ! 


188  BIKCH-KOD  DAYS 

"Just  think  how  few  are  the  people  left 

We  mingled  with  of  yore ; 
How  many  families  now  bereft 

That  ne'er  knew  grief  before! 

' '  And  think  how  time  will  Fortune  change, 

All  things,  and  people,  too; 
O'er  all  the  universal  range 

Things  change,  and  so  will  you." 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  189 


THREE  PLAGUES. 

Regret  for  the  past!  why,  have  none! 

Best  banish  dull  care  away  j 
For  the  past  is  gone,  all  that  is  done 

Is  with  us  ever  to  stay. 

Grief,  at  the  present !  O  tell  me, 
Will  it  do  a  whit  of  good  ? 

Earth's  happiness  we  can  all  see 
Ever  present  if  we  would. 

Anxiety,  for  the  future! 

I  merely  wish  to  suggest, 
Life's  sorrows  we  only  nurture 

That  misery  be  our  guest. 

Three  plagues  of  human  existence! 

Expel  them  all  from  the  mind ; 
'Twill  help  and  be  of  assistance 

The  pleasures  of  life  to  find. 


190  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 


TO  PORTIA. 

Sweet  little  girl,  thy  tender  years 

Are  now  thine  own,  but  soon  one  hears 

The  call  to  a  naaturer  life: 
But  for  thee  we  have  little  fears  ; 

Life  will  be  one  of  joy  —  not  strife. 

To  be  happy,  this  life  endears  — 
Women  I  find  our  best  compeers  — 
I  trust  thou'll  some  day  be  a  wife, 
Sweet  little 


For  there  is  nothing  life  so  cheers, 
As  the  sweet  wives  we  call  our  dears, 

Earth's  pleasures  then  are  rife: 
And  fame  divine  which  one  reveres 

Will  be  far  sweeter  in  this  life, 
Sweet  little  girl. 


AND  OTHBtt  POEMS.  191 


DAUNT  NOT  THE  SPIRIT. 

Daunt  not  the  spirit, 

Let  it  be  free 
As  the  winds  that  sweep 

O'er  land  and  sea ! 

Crush  not  the. spirit, 

O  let  it  roam, 
Free  as  the  waves 

On  ocean  home! 

Cage  not  the  spirit, 

Let  it  run  wild, 
Like  to  a  laughing 

Wayward  child! 

Bind  not  the  spirit, 

O  let  it  soar 
Always  heavenward 

Toward  Hope's  bright  star! 


BiKCH-ROD  DAYS 

Spirit  of  Mortal, 

Ever  be  proud! 
From  day  of  thy  birth 

Till  wrapt  in  the  shroud. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  193 

FORGIVE,  O  THAT  RELIGION! 

Forgive,  O  that  religion 

That  teaches  one  to  hate, 
A  wandering,  wayward  brother 

That  seeks  thro'  another  gate! 

God  help  them  to  hold  up  in  faith; 

Forgive— it  is  a  rarity; 
The  only  strength  they  have  is  —  Hope, 

They've  naught  of  Christian  charity. 

To  God  and  man  alike  unjust, 
They  will  their  brothers  wrong, 

"Not  in  Thee  alone  "  have  they  put  their 

trust, 
E'en  tho'  their  prayers  be  long. 

They  at  the  stake  would  gladly  burn 
Those  differing  from  their  view ; 

O  God,  we  trust  thou  wilt  in  turn 
Love  and  forgive  them  too. 


194  BIECH-ROD  DAYS 


TO  MARY. 

Sweet  woman,  let  me  here  confess 
The  love  I  have  for  thee ; 

A  while  no  more  thy  lips  I'll  press- 
Still  wilt  thou  think  of  me  ? 

My  Mary,  thou  canst  not  forget 
Glad  times  we've  had  together, 

Dear  are  they  to  my  memory  yet, 
And  dear  will  be  forever. 

'Twas  love,  so  gentle,  kind  and  true, 
The  love  that  never  dies ; 

The  while  I  bid  thee  now  adieu, 
Thy  love  I'll  ever  prize. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  155 

TEMPORAL  TOWER. 

On  a  roof  standing 

A  Kid  was  bandying 
Words  with  a  Wolf  passing  by: 

And  began  to  defile  him, 

To  taunt  and  revile  him, 
Feeling  quite  safe  up  so  high. 

Said  the  Wolf :  "Thee  I  hear, 

And  thy  cowardly  jeer, 
But  nothing  you  say  doth  me  shock; 

'Tis  the  place  where  you  stand— 

If  I  had  you  in  hand, 
Not  long,  sir,  me  would  you  mock!'' 

It  is  often  the  case, 

There's  advantage  in  place, 
And  also  in  temporal  power ; 

One  must  not  abuse  it, 

Nor  ever  misuse  it, 
But  try  and  make  every  hour 


196  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

A  remembrance  spot, 

Which  memory  will  not 
Forget,  but  ever  will  treasure ; 

Or  else  you'll  disgrace 

Not  only  the  place, 
But  yourself,  likewise,  in  a  measure. 


AND  OTHEK  POEMS.  197 

WHAT    IS   THERE  BETTER  MAN 

CAN  DO? 
What  is  there  better  man  can  do 

Than  lead  a  Christian's  life  ; 
The  vices  of  this  world  eschew  — 

Its  never  ending  strife? 
Ah,  it  is  sweet  to  work  for  heaven, 

And  do  the  Master's  will, 
For  God  will  all  our  sorrows  leaven, 

His  promises  fulfill. 

It  is  sublime  for  man  to  work 

Like  the  Savior  of  his  kind, 
And  never  from  life's  duties  shirk, 

But  try  more  good  to  find  j 
To  ever  try  the  good  to  teach, 

That  men  may  better  grow, 
And  by  kind  deeds  their  hearts  to  reach, 

God's  saving  grace  to  know. 

'Tis  noble  then  each  day  to  give 
The  time,  the  thought,  the  care, 


198  BIRCH-ROD  DATS 

So  long  as  God  gives  life  to  live 
To  fight  the  tempter's  snare. 

The  good  we  do  in  life  will  be 
A  credit  to  our  soul; 

The  man  of  good  will  ever  see 

God  will  His  deeds  enroll. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  199 


TRUE  MIGHT. 

Boasting,  the  North  Wind  said  to  the  Sun: 
"Never  by  you  will  I  be  outdone; 

I  am  more  powerful  and  will  try 
Who  shall  be  victor— you  or  I." 

"Then,"  said  the  Sun,  "  this  I  propose, 
I  will  use  warmth  and  you  may  use 

blows, 
On  yonder  traveler,  and  we'll  try 

Whether  you  can  first  strip  his  cloak 
or  I." 

Then  blew  the  North  Wind  a   vigorous 

blast, 
The  shivering  traveler  held  his  cloak 

fast; 
The  strong  North  Wind  failed  after  an 

hour 
To  remove  the  cloak  by  might  or  power. 


000  BIKCH-ROD  DAYS 

Beaming  out  brightly  the  Sun  then  shone 
In  genial  warmth  from  his  royal  throne; 

No  longer  cold,  the  man  cast  in  delight 
The  cloak  the  Wind  failed  to  remove 
by  might. 

And  from  that  time  to  the  present  day 
A  kind,  gentle  manner,  best  will  pay; 

Persuasion  is  better  than  use  of  force, 
A  manner  humane  the  wiser  course. 

Tears  of  affection  are  precious  things; 

Tears  of  subjection  sure  sorrow  brings; 
Tears  of  force  to  the  eyes  of  sorrow 

Bring  never  a  joy  for  the  bright  to 
morrow. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  201 

DISCRETION. 

'Twas  summer  hot, 

The  lake  was  not 
Deep  water  for  a  home  j 

'Twould  soon  go  dry, 

'Twas  best  to  hie  — 
Two  froggies  thought  to  roam. 

So  off  they  went 

On  water  bent, 
And  searched  all  o'er  the  plain ; 

When  soon  they  found 

A  well,  large  round, 
The  sun  could  never  drain. 

"Into  it  plump, 

Come,  let  us  jump! 
It  is  delicious,  cool! 

'Tis  not  good  wit, 

Just  wait  a  bit! " 
Said  the  other:  "Deep's  the  pool! 


203  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

If  it  were  dry 
With  walls  so  high, 

How  could  we  e'er  get  out? 
We'd  better  stay 
In  the  lake  •  some  day 

'Twill  rain  beyond  a  doubt. " 

'Tis  sense,  I  think 

When  on  the  brink 
Of  a  danger-threatening  place, 

When  peril's  great, 

Never  to  wait, 
But  quick  one's  steps  retrace. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  203 

SUMMER'S  LABOR 

One  cold,  frosty  day, 

An  Ant  ate  away 

On  food  which  we  may 

Gather  in  summer 
When  we  feel  well  and  gay. 

A  Grasshopper,  half  fed, 
From  hunger  nigh  dead, 
Besought  her  for  bread: 

"When  'tis  not  summer 
'Twas  a  hard  life  he  lead." 

"What  were  you  doing? 
What  trade  pursuing  ? 
Why  were  you  not  viewing 
The  fields  of  the  summer 
For  the  winter  ensuing?" 

Said  the  Grasshopper  gay: 
"I  danced  every  day, 
And  was  singing  alway, 


204  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Thinking  the  summer 
Would  forever  here  stay." 

Said  the  Ant,  cheerily:  — 
Singing  then  merrily  — 
"This  I  say,  verily: 

Who  labors  not  summer, 
Winters  pass  drearily." 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  205 


DISSENSION. 

Four  Bulls  were  calmly  feeding 
Upon  the  summer's  grass  j 

A  Lion  lay  in  ambush 
Waiting  to  make  a  pass. 

But  while  they  fed  together, 
He  would  not  make  them  prey  • 

They  guarded  well  each  other 
And  cared  not  to  estray. 

The  Lion  at  last  succeeded 

In  making  an  aversion ; 
By  jealousy  he  breeded 

In  causing  a  dispersion. 

Then  when  the  Bulls  were  separate 
And  from  each  other  gone, 

'Twas  easy  to  annihilate 
And  eat  them  one  by  one. 


206  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

'Tis  ever  thus  dissensions  will, 
Among  the  best  of  friends, 

Breed  nothing  good,  but  only  ill— 
On  peace  success  depends. 


AND  OTHEH   POEMS.  207 


MY  LADY  FAIR 

Entwine  thy  hair,  my  lady  fair, 

With  roses  off  the  lea  ; 
The  dewy  rose  that  fragrant  grows 

To  glad  thy  heart  and  me. 
Upon  its  stem  a  diadem 

So  lustrous  to  behold  ; 
Though  sweet  indeed  upon  the  mead, 

Sweet  in  thy  hair  of  gold. 
Then  deck  thy  hair — these  roses  rare 

Seem  fit  and  gay  for  thee ; 
In  beauty  glows  the  lovely  rose 

I'll  pluck  and  bring  to  thee. 

O !  golden  hair,  that  will  compare 
With  the  mermaids  of  the  sea; 

O!  starlit  eyes, 'mid  sunny  skies, 
Where  wealth  and  beauty  be ! 

Thou  dost  beguile,  with  radiant  smile, 
By  thy  beauteous  self  I  swear, 


208  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Thy  wealth  of  bliss  I  will  not  miss, 
But  seek  and  with  thee  share. 

Then  will  I  twine,  O  lady  mine, 
About  thy  golden  hair 

The  fairest  rose  the  heather  grows, 
To  deck  thee,  lady  fair. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  209 

SCOTCH  LETTER 

The  wind  is  blawing  very  cauld. 
As  now  my  paper  I  enfauld 
To  write  unto  my  ain  dear  hame, 
Wi'  mony  a  wish  you're  blest  in  same. 
I'm  very  well,  and  God  be  thankit, 
I'm  able,  as  of  auld,  to  shankit. 
Sometimes  I'm  happy  wi'  my  lot, 
Sometimes  I'm  sad— why,  I  wot  not; 
But  still  it  gi'es  me  greatest  joy 
To  wat  I'm  Mither's  darlin'  boy. 
I  read  an'  write  a'  the  day  long, 
Blackstone,  Metcalf,  an'  syne  a  song'; 
O'er  Tarn  O'Shanter  I  laugh  by  turns, 
Wrote  by  the  poet  Robert  Burns. 
I  hae  na  wife,  I  hae  na  dame, 
God  grant  I  ne'er  may  hae  the  same: 
For  I'm  content  to  live  alone — 
Mony's  the  troubles  then  I'll  shun  — 
Then   ilka  day,  and    ilka  hour 
That  I  hae  time  and  hae  the  power; 


210  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

To  write  shall  be  my  greatest  ettle— 
Ah,  gin  I  o'ly  hae  the  mettle. 
But  to  my  letter,  I  hae  left  it, 
An'  a'  the  gither  wandered  f rae  it ; 
Na  mair  I  dare  na  trifle  wi'  you, 
Sic  clish-ma-claver  as  I  do  gie  you, 
I  ken,  does  bother  auld  folks  greatly ; 
I'll  ask,  is  she  still  proud  an1  stately, — 
My  wordy  beast,  my  weel  gann  filly  ? 
There  ne'er  was  better  than  auld  Mollie. 
Oh  denna  keep  her  poor  and  knaggie, 
Gie  meikle  corn  to  her  auld  baggie ; 
Wi'  fond  caress  on  mony  a  day, 
Gie  to  her  meikle  oats  an'  hay. 
Mayst  thou  hae  meikle  to  eat  an'  drink, 
An'  aye  enough  o'  needfu'  clink. 
An'  neist,  how  is  my  bonny  sister  ? 
God  bless  her  an'  her  guid  auld  mither  - 
An'  also  bless  her  guid  auld  daddie  — 
I'll  bless  ye  a',  your  bonnie  laddie. 
To  a',  my  everlastin',  never  dyin' — 
An'  sure,  I  canna  keep  frae  cryin', 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  2U 

For  as  I  write,  I  ken~one  other 
I'd  rather  see,  than  meet  her  brother, 
Who  lives  awa'  in  our  auld  town, 
For  a  better  one  canna  be  foun'- 
In  bonnie  boys  it  aye  surpasses; 
En  comely  maids,  an'  bonnie  lasses. 
Sinna  I  canna  be  wi'  you, 
Be  happy  still  as  I  bid  adieu ;     . 
A.n'  if  I  should  be  slee  an'  funny, 
Pray  think  o'  me,  your  ain  guid  sonnie; 
A.n'  of 'en  write  me  a  guid  auld  letter, 
Naught  there  is  will  please  me  better; 
Careless  is  he  who  aye  postpones  — 

Remember 

Yours  truly, 

Will  C.  Jones. 


212  BIRCH-ROD  DATS 

CKAFTY. 

A  Fox,  who  never  a  Lion 

Had  seen  until  that  day, 
Crouched  meekly  with  fear  before  him, 

In  a  fearfully  frightened  way. 

But  upon  a  second  meeting 
He'd  lost  some  of  his  fright, 

And  talked  with  the  Lion  boldly, 
As  if  it  were  a  right. 

At  his  third  visit,  emboldened, 

He  to  the  Lion  said: 
"When  first  I  saw  a  Lion 

I  had  an  awful  dread  • 

But  I  find  from  close  acquaintance  — 

I  often  see  and  hear, 
With  those  we  term  the  mighty, 

That  greatness  flees  when  near. 

And  familiarity  breeds,  sir, 
Contempt,  likewise,  I  know." 

"Begone!"  said  the  Lion  ;  "villain! 
Crafty,  as  well  as  low." 


AND  OTHEB  POEMS.  213 


THE  FIKESIDE. 

I  love  to  sit  by  the  winter's  fire, 

And  enjoy  its  warmth  to  my  heart's  desire. 

With  life's  affairs  no  more  perplext, 

In  my  favorite  book  I  peruse  the  text — 

The  lord  of  a  castle  all  my  own, 

And  as  glad  as  a  king  on  his  royal  throne. 

To  the  cheerful  blaze  come  merry  souls, 
With  faces  bright  as  the  glowing  coals. 
Too  soon  these  ties  the  years  may  sever, 
And  those  we  love  may  be  gone  forever. 
The  ties  of  home  are  more  dear  to  me 
Than  anything  else  in  life  I  see. 

The  winds  may  whistle  around  the  roof  j 
From  the  chilling  storms  I  can  keep  aloof ; 
And  I  look  about  for  the  near  and  dear; 
And  feel  and  know  that  we  all  are  here. 
There  is  naught  in  life  to  me  but  this — 
The  sweet  content  of  domestic  bliss. 


U4  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

The  pleasures  of  home  let  us  all  enjoy! 
With  its  innocent  gladness  your  time  em 
ploy! 

For  life  is  fleeting  —  a  passing  breath ; 
The  young  and  the  old  soon  fall  in  death. 
Of  the  pleasures  of  life  we  ask  but  this  — 
The  sweet  content  of  domestic  bliss. 


wAND  OTHEK  POEMS.  215 

CHEISTMAS. 

I  still  love  to  think  of  scenes  like  this, 

Of  days  now  long  since  gone ; 
When  I  was  a  child  in  my  hallowed  bliss, 

A  boy — an  only  one. 
On    Christmas    eve  my    stockings    were 
hung— 

"Old  Santa"  was  sure  to  come; 
And  merry  hearts  made  merry  tongue, 

And  we  were  all  at  home. 

Those  days  are  past  and  I  a  boy 

Older  in  years  have  grown ; 
Yet  still,  when  I  think,  it  gives  me  joy 

To  know  them  once  my  own  ! 
I  am  far  from  home  this  Christmas  day, 

Where  I  but  meet  and  bow, 
No  friends  I  greet  —  I'm  sick  and  away  — 

Christmas  is  lonely  now. 

I  think  of  it  all — here  every  word  — 
The  circle  is  formed,  I  know  ; 


216  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

By  merry  hands  the  fire  is  stirred  — 

I  see  its  cheerful  glow. 
Think  they  of  me  ?  I  am  with  them  there 

In  the  midst  of  Christmas  rings, 
Tho'  I  feel  the  sting  of  a  silent  tear 

My  lonely  Christmas  brings. 

I  am  thinking  now,  yes,  thinking  now, 

Of  distant  pleasure  climes  • 
Plighting  myself  in  a  silent  vow 

For  future  Christmas  times! 
The  time  speeds  slow;  O!  my  heart's  dis 
tress! 

On  this  long,  lonely  day  — 
Yet  I  wile  me  away  from  its  dreariness 

Thinking  of  friends  far  away. 


AND  OTHEfi  POEMS.  217 


AN  ILL-SORTED  LEAGUE. 

A  Mouse,  on  one  ill-omened  day, 
Made  the  acquaintance  of  a  Frog, 

When,  after  making  a  short  stay, 
They  started  off  upon  a  jog. 

The  Frog  he  feigned  a  great  affection 
To  keep  his  friend  the  Mouse  from  harm ; 

And  urged  it  was  for  her  protection 
To  have  her  tied  unto  his  arm. 

When,  coming  nigh  unto  a  brook, 

The  Frog  said:   "Come,  have  courage, 
swim," 

And  with  a  plunge  the  Frog  then  took 
The  frightened  Mouse  in  after  him. 


The  Mouse  went  floundering  about, 
And  did  a  great  commotion  make; 

Until  a  kite,  them  spying  out, 
Concluded  both  of  them  to  take. 


218  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

And  pouncing  down  she  caught  the  Mouse, 
Thus  tied  so  tightly  to  the  Frog, 

And  bore  them  from  their  watery  house, 
And  straightway  ate  them  on  a  log. 

Ill-matched  alliance  always  end 

Just  like  that  of  the  Frog  and  Mouse. 

For  none  who  read  will  e'er  contend 
Two  such  as  they  could  keep  one  house. 

And  one  who  will  his  neighbor  trap, 
Or  foully  set  for  him  a  snare, 

Will  find  himself  in  some  mishap 
Before  he  fully  is  aware. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  219 


AN  ILL-FOKMED  ALLIANCE. 

A  Lion  roaming  on  the  pebbly  shore 
Espied  a  Whale'on  the  surface  basking, 

And  calling  to  him  in  a  loud  roar, 
Began  these  questions  asking: 

"As  I  am  the  king  of  the  lauds, 
And  you  the  king  of  the  seas, 

Would  it  not  be  proper  that  we  join  hands 
And  have  power  to  do  as  we  please?" 

The  Whale  to  assent  to  this  seemed  glad, 
And  promised  with  right  good  will, 

For  neither  of  them  a  doubt  then  had 
He  couldn't  his  promises  fulfill. 

It  chanced  the  Lion  was  first  in  a  fight, 

Attacking  a  Bull  one  day, 
And  he  called  to  the  Whale  with  all  his 
might, 

To  take  the  Bull's  gores  away. 


«20  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

The  Whale  would  gladly  have  joined  ic 

the  fray, 

But  he  was  unable  to  leave  the  sea, 
Tho'  the  Lion  his  friend  he  would  not  be 

tray, 
Yet  he  proved  but  a  poor  ally  to  be. 

It  is  best  when  you  form  any  compact, 

On  the  land  or  on  the  sea, 
That  all  of  the  parties  to  the  act 

Are  able  and  will  all  agree. 

And  then,  too,  before  the  contracting, 
Be  careful  —  make  no  mistake  — 

That  both  the  contracting  parties 
Can  do  all  they  undertake. 


AND   OTHEE  POEMS.  221 

DECEPTION. 

A  wealthy  Koman,  in  days  of  yore, 
Oft  for  his  friends  had  good  in  store ; 
Sometimes  it  was  a  feast,  sometimes  a  show 
To  which  his  neighbors  were  asked  to  go. 
One  day  he  proffered  a  large  reward 
To  him  who  offered  the  fittest  card— 
That  is,  to  him  who  would  play  best  — 
Amuse  the  people  by  joke  or  jest. 

Contesting  artists  began  to  arrive, 

•US-tJfJi, 

Each  fer  the  other  soon  to  strive ; 
Incited  by  eagerness  for  the  prize, 
Each  tried  his  best  to  seem  most  wise. 
Reports  went  round,  the  neighbors  flocked 
Until  the  Forum  fairly  rocked 
With  eager  people,  there  to  see 
Conjurers  of  such  high  degree. 

A  Mountebank  gave  out,  one  day, 
That  he  had  something  new  to  play; 


222  BIBCH-ROD  DAYS 

Something  which  he  would  vouch  no  age 
Had  yet  produced  on  any  stage : 
Amid  curiosity  and  suspense, 
Without  assistants,  stepping  hence ; 
He  mimicked  a  pig,  so  like  the  squeal 
The  audience  thought  the  pig  quite  real. 

Some  said  the  pig  was  'neath  his  cloak, 
And  claimed  the  trick  to  be  a  joke. 
Others  insisted  upon  a  search, 
Intent  the  clever  trick  to  smirch. 
They   searched    the    showman— searched 

him  well  — 

And  to  the  audience  they  would  tell 
That  nothing  upon  him  could  be  found. 
Applause  went  high,  round  after  round. 

A  Farmer  'mongst  his  neighbors  sat, 
Observed  the  trick  not  new, -and  that 
He  could  perform  in  better  style, 
Which  caused  his  fellows  but  to  smile. 
The  morrow  came,  with  it  the  crowd, 
All  ready  with  their  praises  loud 


AND  OTHKR  POEMS.  22£ 

Of  Mountebank,  who  stepping  front, 
Would  mimic  both  the  squeal  and   grunt. 

Up  went  the  hands  of  the  audience  all, 
Cheer  after  cheer  that  would  appall 
The  Farmer,  who  began  to  feel 
For  ears  of  a  pig  that  was  real. 
He  pinched  the  ears  and  pulled  the  tail, 
And  the  pig  to  squeal  would  never  fail ; 
While  the  audience  hissed  at  every  sound. 
Until  the  squeal  was  fairly  drowned. 

"Romans,  I  see  you  love  deceit, 
Discard  the  real  for  the  cheat ; 
Applaud  the  mimic  of  the  squeal, 
And  hiss  at  the  one  you  know  is  real." 
Then,  much  to  everyone's  surprise, 
He  placed  the  pig  before  their  eyes. 
And  do  not  we  who  live  to-day 
Conduct  ourselves  in  the  Roman  way? 


BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 


LIFE'S  GRAPES. 

Ripe,  lovely  grapes,  but  trellised  high, 

A  roving  Fox  by  chance  did  spy  • 
And  as  they  hung  in  a  sunny  glow 

They  were  to  the  Fox  a  tempting  show. 
Reynard  by  many  a  vain  leap  tries 

To  get  a  taste  of  the  longed-for  prize, 
But  finding  possession  quite  out  of  his 
power, 

Said  :    "It  matters  not;  the  grapes  are 

sour." 
So  the  grapes  of  life,  which  ofttimes  we 

So  dearly  covet  whenever  we  see, 
But  finding  them  beyond  our  reach, 

Like  the  sly  old  Fox, "  sour  grapes"  we 
preach. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  225 


THE  MISER. 

All  that  he  had  a  Miser  sold, 
Receiving  therefore  a  lump  of  gold. 

Which  he  buried  away 

Where  it  wouldn't  pay, 

Into  a  hole  that  very  day. 
It  was  a  very  secluded  spot, 
At  least  that  is  what  the  Miser  thought  — 

By  the  side  of  a  wall, 

Once  stately,  tall, 

But  demolished  all, 
Scattering  a  pile  of  sand  and  brick  — 
No  better  place  could  a  Miser  pick. 

Daily  the  Miser  went  that  way, 
Frequent  his  visits,  short  his  stay ; 

And  it  was  his  delight 

To  know  it  was  tight 

In  a  hole  out  of  sight  — 
Away  under  the  ground,  safe  and  sound 
From  mercenary  people  tramping  'round. 


236  BIRCH-ROD   DAYS 

For  in  a  measure 

His  only  pleasure 

Was  in  this  treasure. 
And  none  can  tell  what  the  Miser  thought. 
Or  the  heavenly  joy  this  treasure  brought. 

A  little  caution  I  would  advise, 
Tho'  extra  caution's  not  overwise ; 

Was  the  thief's  thought 

Who  marked  the  spot 

And  formed  a  plot 
To  dig  into  the  Miser's  treasure, 
Then  carry  it  away  at  pleasure, 

At  dead  of  night, 

When  there  was  no  light 

To  mark  his  flight. 

It  was  thought  to  be  cunning,  crafty,  bold  — 
The  way  the  Miser  lost  his  gold. 

At  his  next  visit  the  Miser  found 
Naught  but  a  hole —  a  hole  in  the  ground 

Then  he  tore  his  hair, 

In  his  great  despair, 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  227 

And  sorrow  there. 
Imagine  a  lifetime's  pleasure  lost ! 
Then  think  of  the  trouble  this  treasure  cost. 

Oh,  wretched  man  ! 

More  miserable  than 

All  earthly  clan ! 

And  the  Miser  wished  that  he  was  dead, 
For  the  joys  of  life  for  him  had  fled. 

A  friend  found  him  cast  down  with  grief, 
And  ministered  thus  to  his  relief  : 

' '  Pray,  why  dost  grieve  ? 

Sir,  by  your  leave, 

A  stone  I'll  heave 

Into  the  hole,  you  may  fancy  gold  — 
'Twill  answer  your  purpose  at  least   ten 
fold." 

For  you  are  aware, 

When  your  gold  was  there, 

The  only  care 

Was  its  safety— not  its  use  to  lend  — 
Then  a  stone  is  a  thing  you  cannot  spend. " 


228  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

But  the  Miser  in  life  no  more  joy  found; 
Soon  died  and  was  buried  in  the  ground, 

Without  oration, 

Without  ovation, 

By  the  donation 

Of  some  kind  friends  —  there  were  but  few 
Who  in  his  lifetime  the  Miser  knew. 

His  grave  so  lone 

Now  bears  a  stone, 

With  words  his  own  : 
"Miserable!  Miserly!  Heed,  my  friend  — 
For  the  wants  of  life  your  money  spend." 


AND  OTHER  POEMS-  229 

THE  REWARD  OF  STEALTH. 

Reynard  was  blessed  with  a  bushy  tail, 
Of  lovely  hair  he  was  wont  to  trail— 

No  other's  was  more  graceful. 
He  thought  he  had  unbounded  wit — 
At  least  a  plenty  to  care  for  it, 

And  carried  it  quite  graceful. 
But  people  will  always  a  thief  abhor, 
And  against  them  wage  continual  war. 

Reynard  kept  stealing,  year  after  year, 
The  neighborhood  poultry  without  fear, 

That  justice  would  o'ertake  him. 
He  would  prowl  by  night  and  sneak  by  day, 
Gobbling  up  chickens  that  came  in  his  way, 

Thinking  luck  would  not  forsake  him. 
But  Reynard  staying  out  one  night  quite 

late, 
Met  this,  a  most  untimely  fate. 

Reynard,  while  stealing,  fell  into  a  trap, 
And  tho'  full  of  vigor  aud  full  of  snap, 


230  BIKCH-ROD  DAYS 

Energy  was  of  no  avail. 
Serious  trouble !  His  thoughts  came  quick, 
Only  one  remedy  —  cut  off  slick 

His  beautiful  bushy  tail. 
Sensible  he  was  to  this  disgrace, 
Sensible  too  of  the  time  and  place. 

Resolving,  however,  to  make  the  best 
Of  a  matter  bad,  he  said  to  the  rest: 

"Foxes,  it  is  with  joy  I  hail 
The  convenience  with  which  I  move  about, 
I  feel  quite  at  ease,  and  should  you  doubt, 

Do  away  with  your  bushy  tail. " 
But  scorn  and  laughter  were  heaped  upon 
The  unfortunate  Fox  when  he  had  done. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


OPPRESSION. 

A  Wolf  stole  down  on  a  shepherd's  fold, 

And  seized  a  Lamb,  in  a  manner  bold, 
And  began  to  bear  it  off  to  his  lair, 

Intent  upon  making  a  meal  of  it  there; 
When  a  Lion,  switching  his  tail  in  wrath, 

Suddenly  leaped  across  his  path, 
And  boldly  seized  the  Lamb  from  his  jaw, 

Then  scowled  at  the  Wolf  who  stood  in  awe. 
"That  Lamb  was  unrighteously  taken  from  me, 

'Tis  mine,"  said  the  Wolf ,  entreatingly. 
"What!  Yours?"  the  Lion  jeeriugly  said, 

As  he  tossed  his  mane  and  shook  his  head. 
"Might  makes  right,  else  you'd  not  have  had 

The  shepherd's  lamb  —  a  meal  not  bad. 
You  know  that  the  strong  the  weak  oppress  — 

A  truth  I  am  sure  you  will  confess." 


232  BIRCH-HOD  DAYS 


TREACHEROUS  FRIENDSHIP. 

Over  hill  and  dale,  by  the  Hound  pursued, 
A  fleet-foot  Hare  was  at  last  subdued ; 

First  the  Hound  would  bite,  as  her  life  to  take, 
Then  fondle  and  feign  amends  to  make. 

UO  that  you  were  sincere,"  then  said  the  Hare; 

"Pray  show  by  your  colors  what  you  are 
If  my  true  friend  you  are,  why  bite  so  hard  ? 

If  my  enemy,  why  show  me  regard? 

"Those  whom  we  can  neither  trust  nor  distrust 
Are  not  true  friends  that  treat  us  just  j 

Better  the  hate  of  an  enemy, 

Than  feigning  friendship  and  base  treachery." 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  233 

MY  LOVES. 

My  first  was  a  damsel,  as  fair  as  a  rose 

That  blooms  in  the  morning,  fresh  with  dew; 

She  was  comely;  I  loved  her,  and  everyone  knows 
No  love  like  the  first  is  so  warm  and  so  true. 

I  was  then  but  a  boy  in  my  passionate  teens ; 
She  was  charming— I  fondled  her  dearly. 

Oh!  I  cannot  forget,  tho'  time  it  me  weans, 
For  I  loved  her,  yes,  truly,  sincerely. 

Long  since  she  has  left  me — lament's  no  avail  — 
Is  married  — a  mother  —  to  me  that  is  naught; 

Once  more  on  love's  waves  my  bark  I  will  sail- 
To  grieve  would  be  folly,  with  evil  full  fraught. 

My  second— a  sweet  little  miss  of  thirteen  — 

Had  lips  like  twin  rose-buds;  and  laughing  gray 
eyes; 

Resplendent  as  sunlight  her  hair's  golden  sheen; 
Like  the  ripple  of  brooks  sweetly  low  her  replies. 

Ah!  She  was  my  idol  — I  worshipped  her  too  — 
And  fond  were  the  hopes  that  I  cherished. 


234  BIRCH-HOD  DAYS 

I  would  wed  her  one  day,  ray  darling  so  true; 

Alas,  furtive  hopes,  how  they  perished! 
She,  too,  went  away  —  I  do  not  now  care  — 

Still  her  memory  is  deep  in  my  heart  — 
I  suppose,  like  my  first,  a  mother,  somewhere, 

A  dear  little  wife  doing  nicely  her  part. 

My  third,  and  the  best,  the  last  kindled  spark, 

Was  a  sweet  little  maiden,  her  summers  sixteen. 
Eyes  beaming  with  brightness,  so  loving,  so  dark, 

And  bonny  brown  tresses,  the  fairest  e'er  seen. 
Adored  I  my  fair  one,  oft  my  love  I'd  repeat, 

With  a  kind  and  affectionate  heart; 
I  now  had  determined,  if  she  beat  a  retreat, 

It  would  not  be  owing  to  my  not  doing  my  part. 
I  wooed  and  I  won  her  — the  best  I  must  tell  — 

Ever  happy  we've  been  from  that  day; 
Life's  best  thing  I  find  is  the  home  where  we  dwell, 

When  all  help  to  make  it  pleasant  to  stay. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  235 

COINS. 

Hope,  thou  art  a  flatterer,  upright  and  just; 
In  thee  life's  weary  pilgrims  put  their  trust  • 
The  poor  man's  hut,  the  mansions  of  the  rich 
Alike,  with  one  accord,  thou  dost  bewitch. 

Base  as  a  currency,  tho'  paid  at  court, 

Thou  art,  O  Flattery,  a  dernier  resort  j 

By  common  custom,  a  coin  quite  often  paid, 

Tho'  base  and  worthless,  yet  good  stock  in  trade. 

Thank  God,  the  resurrection  bone  will  stay 
Impervious  to  death,  and  to  all  decay ; 
Fire  will  not  burn  it,  nor  hammer  break, 
Mills  cannot  grind  it,  nor  water  slake. 

Life's  wicked  gayeties  'round  which  men  cling, 
First  bring  them  pleasure, then  to  ruin  bring; 
Like  the  volcanic  mount  whose  surface  grows  with 

flowers, 
But  desolate  soon  amid  scoriae  showers. 


238  BIRCH-HOD  DAYS 

The  stars  are  pearls  of  the  unclouded  night, 
As  truths  are  pearls  of  sorrow  to  teach  the  right; 
And  often  a  bitter  truth,  when  well  impressed, 
Has  proven  useful,  and  its  owner  blest. 

'Tis  ease  and  luxury  that  obscures  the  mind, 
While  poverty  doth  its  possessor  grind; 
But  grinding  sharpens —'tis  a  school  whence 
Its  graduates  have  success  immense. 

We  grieve  as  life  speeds  by,  yet  have  no  care, 
And  long  each  period  past  the  new  to  share; 
The  youth  longs  ever  to  be  of  full  age; 
The  business  man  for  busiest  stage ; 
One  seeks  life's  honors  to  be  known  as  great, 
And  seldom  is  content  on  time  to  wait ; 
With  all  regretful  we  all  soon  aspire 
To  gain  life's  rest— to  be  at  ease,  retire. 

Stars  !  Pearls  of  darkness,  make  resplendent  night; 
Truths!  Pearls  of  sorrow,  teach  us   to   know   the 
right. 


AND  OTHER   POEMS.  237 

Beauty,  thou  dost  with  thy  unerring  glance 
The  souls  of  guileless  men  to  thee  entrance; 
Thy  art's  alluring,  and  thou  dost  succeed  — 
An  hypnotizer  thou  art  indeed. 
While  yet  an  angel,  thou  hast  reptile  wings, 
And  waste  thy  sweetness  on  too  many  things. 

Bear  well  misfortune  with  a  Christian's  zeal, 
The  world  will  let  you  bear  without  appeal ; 
The  Christian  fortitude  so  oft  expressed  — 
Grief  for  their  own  — deeming  yours  a  jest. 

Man  strives  for  wealth  to  find  his  trouble  grows, 
And  strives  for  knowledge  to  find  he  little  knows. 

*". 

Contemn  not  men  until  they've  injured  you, 

And  when  they  have,  detest  and  them  eschew. 

Of  all  the  actions  of  a  wise  man's  life, 
There's  none  so  great  as  to  choose  a  wife; 
His  marriage  mankind  should  the  least  concern, 
To  meddle  with  it  most  his  neighbors  yearn. 


238  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

A  hero  is  a  soul,  who,  sick  with  ills, 
Can  be  induced  to  take  physicians'  pills; 
'Tis  true  they  will  amuse  a  sick  man's  mind 
Until  they  kill,  or  nature  cure  will  find. 

'Tis  well  to  think  well,  divine  to  act  right, 
But  he  does  most  who  does  one  act  contrite. 


AND  OTHEfl  POEMS.  239 

I. 

THE  RELATION  OF  MAN  TO  NATURE. 

THE    ARGUMENT. 

Man  is  the  most  helpless  of  all  beings  born  into  this  world,  yet  has 
been  given  control  of  the  other  beings  upon  the  earth.  Man  has 
honor  and  glory,  and  is  created  without  a  peer. 

Into  the  world  most  helpless  being  born, 

Is  Man  —  made  like  his  God,  earth  to  adorn ; 

Yet  he,  proud  son  of  God's  eternal  hand, 

Boasts  mastery  o'er  the  boundless  sea  and  land; 

To  death,  this  atom,  creature  of  the  earth, 

If  left  uncared  for,  doomed  is  he  at  birth ; 

But  from  his  first  until  his  final  breath 

Asserts  o'er  all  the  rights  of  life  and  death. 

Unable  what  the  hour  shall  bring  and  where 

To  tell,  yet  to  interpret  and  declare 

God's  laws,  assumes  he  —  ways  of  the  most  high  ; 

The  heavens  measures,  maps  out  earth  and  sky ; 

Marks  planets'  orbits;  and  courses  define 

Of  worlds— no  longer  human  but  divine! 


240  BIRCH-ROD   DAYS 

Sport  of  the  elements!  Imperial  child! 

Lifeless  he  falls  if  but  the  air's  defiled 

With  vapor  invisible;  and  quakes  with  fear 

If  but  the  voice  of  thunder  he  doth  hear. 

Man,  who,  like  the  grass,  to-day  is  glorious, 

To-morrow  withered,  and  death  victorious, 

Assumes  to  rule  o'er  the  eternal  hills; 

And  rivals  Him  who  rides  on  clouds,  and  wills 

The  lightning's  flash,  the  torrent's  pour; 

The  fire-cloud's  burst  that  warned  the  men  of  yore. 

Upon  the  wave  this  raindrop  takes  control 

Of  infinite  seas,  where  boundless  billows  roll. 

Thus,  man  hath  glory,  splendor,  honor,  here, 

Created  Lord  of  Earth,  without  a  peer! 

II. 

Man  is  a  part  of  Nature.    It  is  the  purpose  to  ascertain  his  relation  to 
Nature. 

My  theme  is  Nature  —  how  'tis  linked  to  Man, 
And  Man  to  Nature  — strange  and  mighty  plan! 
What's  meant  by  Nature?  Comprehensive  term! 
Nature,  and  super-nature,  we  affirm 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  241 

Are  often  talked  about,  nor  vain 

Our  efforts  here  to  separate  the  twain. 

To  draw  the  line  at  just  the  limit 

Of  human  knowledge,  think  not  for  a  minute; 

For  no  man  dares  to  say  that  Nature  goes 

Only  so  far  as  his  experience  knows. 

No  one  should  be  allowed  to  e'er  contend, 

Concerning  things  he  cannot  comprehend; 

And  say  the  unobserved  is  but  a  miracle, 

'     s 
Nor  term  God's  mysteries  empiraSft^ 

The  highest  knowledge  still  is  uncontrolled, 
For  Nature  will  the  strangest  things  unfold, 
Take  planets  Neptune,  Saturn,  Mars  and  Jove  — 
Bright,  shining  stars,  celestial  worlds  above: 
Can  sage  explain  the  ruby  hue  of  Mars? 
Neptune's  construction,  that  of  other  stars? 
Is  Saturn  made  of  rock,  and  that  bright  ring 
Entwined  around  its  disk,  the  wondrous  thing  — 
Is  it  an  iron  forged  and  made  a  tire 
At  Vulcan's  smithy,  kept  in  galling  fire  ? 
He  used  to  work  in  days  erstwhile,  we're  told, 
On  ^Etna's  height,  and  various  things  did  mould. 


242  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

The  greatest,  grandest  one  of  his  invention 

Was  woman,  named  Pandora  —  her  I'll  mention. 

Yet,  palaces  for  Mars,  and  for  Achilles  arms; 

A  golden  chain  for  Juno ;  other  charms 

He  made;  arid  thunder-bolts  for  Jove  he  hurled, 

That  tore  asunder,  rent  the  reeling  world 

In  desolation  —  made  the  boldest  quake, 

And  cities  crumble,  as  when  earthquakes  shake ; 

A  wondrous  smith!  And  from  his  forge  and  fire 

Was  not  Saturna  girded  by  that  tire? 

By  Jove's  high  orders,  then  did  he  aspire 

To  whip  Saturna,  take  his  royal  throne 

And  rule  among  the  Gods  in  power  alone? 

Tell  me,  ye  wise  men.  are  these  planets  water, 

Rock,  forest,  iron,  gold,  or  other  matter? 

Gold,  did  I  say? — not  gold,  I  mean  it  not, 

For  if  our  sons  of  fair  Columbia  thought 

Gold  was,  no  matter  where,  if  near  or  far, 

In  unknown  worlds,  or  in  some  shining  star, 

They'd  seek  it,  get  it,  dig  it,  grind  it  new, 

And  clean  it,  mint  it,  coin  it,  hoard  it,  too. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  843 

You  ask  me  how  they'd  get  it —  please  don't  fret, 

Stars  are  in  mystery,  undiscovered  yet. 

The  planet  Yenus,  distant  to  our  view, 

By  telescope  we  see  its  light,  'tis  true. 

To  tell  the  form  or  elements  that  make 

A  larger  instrument  than  known  'twill  take. 

Yet  Yenus  is  a  part  of  Nature's  birth, 

Like  planet  we  inhabit,  called  the  Earth. 

By  birth  a  part  of  Nature's  great  creation, 

We  may  suppose  it  peopled  by  a  nation. 

I  do  not  know,  but  such  is  my  suggestion, 

If  not,  what  is  it?    That  is  still  the  question. 

No  one  can  say,  with  hope  to  be  consistent, 

That  by  a  miracle  the  Star's  existent. 

For  naught  there  is  in  Nature  or  her  course, 

Or  in  the  uses  of  her  laws  and  force 

As  supernatural,  to  be  claimed  by  man  ; 

Still,  worlds  are  made  on  a  mysterious  plan. 

Water  made  wine,  miraculous  may  seem  ; 

If  'twere  not  done  by  chemicals,  I'd  deem 

It  so.     Accustomed  to  such  changes  though, 

We  speak  of  them  as  natural,  also. 


244  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

To  raise  one  from  the  tomb,  scarce  dead  a  day, 
Disputes  the  laws  of  life  and  of  decay. 
'Tis  very  strange!  Not  supernatural,  no, 
'Tis  Nature's  proof,  and  only  goes  to  show 
A  higher  law  upon  dull  matter  wrought 
Above  the  limit  of  the  things  we're  taught. 


III. 


Nature  is  a  system  of  worlds,  which  the  All-wise  Father  has  made  for 
the  children  of  the  Earth. 

What's  meant  by  Nature?  That  I'll  try  to  tell, 

Will  try  to  please,  and  try  to  do  it  well. 

The  clustered  worlds  were  made  by  God  above, 

That  Man,  his  proudest  creature,  here  might  move; 

Things  physical,  symmetrical,  complex, 

Organic,  inorganic,  be  our  text ; 

The  grain  of  sand  upon  the  surging  shore, 

The  mighty  waves,  with  loud  resounding  roar, 

The  curling  vapors,  darkly  heaped  on  high  — 

Majestic  clouds  athwart  the  azure  sky, 


OTHER  POEMS.  245 

From  microscopic  atomies  of  life 
To  monsters  of  the  deep,  with  terrors  rife. 
Gasses  and  solids,  rocks,  planets,  earth  and  air, 
All  things  which  have  a  conscious  being  here. 

IY. 

Man  cannot  comprehend  God's  creation,  and  disobeys  the  laws  of  his 
Creator. j  He  gropes  his  way  in  darkness  throughout  life. 

Poor,  foolish  Man,  his  conscious  powers  obeying; 

When  born  into  this  world,  commences,  saying: 

UA  mighty  lord  am  I!  Who  placed  me  here? 

I  have  no  equal,  either  far  or  near." 

Said  Adam:  "Do  these  beings  rule  my  life? 

Pray,  tell  me  that,  my  own,  my  darling  wife." 

Said  Eve:  ' '  Ne'er  mind  —  I've  found  an  apple  sweet, 

Come  here,  dear  Adam,  come  and  freely  eat.1' 

He  looked  and  ate  and  was  accursed  then— 

His  sin  has  cursed  his  race  of  fellow-men. 

What  are  we, then?  Whence  come  we  ?  Whither  go? 

We  think,  we  reason,  but  we  do  not  know. 

Oh,  wretched  man!  With  all  thy  boasted  powers, 

Thy  joys  are  fleeting  as  the  summer  showers; 


246  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

In  vain  thy  aspiration  so  sublime ; 
Thy  fondest  hopes  are  doomed,  and,  like  thy  time, 
But  speeds  thee  by ;  vainly  you  clasp  and  cling, 
While  Time  still  mocks  at  thee,  and  will  thee  bring 
Unto  the  grave.     All  reach  that  bound  at  last  — 
Wrapt  in  oblivion,  buried  in  the  past. 

V. 

Man,  however,  belongs  to  the  world  —  he  is  coeval  with  Nature  and  de 
pends  upon  it  for  existence. 

And  how  does  Man  to  this  vain  world  belong? 
Is  his  a  race  apart  from  all  the  throng  ? 
Man  born  with  Nature,  he  must  needs  depend 
Upon  kind  Nature  ever  to  him  befriend. 
Man's  physical  constitution  is  the  same, 
Of  regular  organism,  him  I'll  name. 
And  passions,  too,  the  lordliest  men  do  show 
Possessed  by  brute  creation  far  below. 
We  boast  our  lineage,  and  yet  'tis  plain 
Are  but  of  clay.     'Tis  useless  to  be  vain, 
For  atoms  of  the  grandest  type  of  Man 
Are  seen  in  members  of  the  lower  clan. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS,  217 

The  German  flower-gardeners  often  say 

That  Man  is  only  water,  carbon,  ammonia. 

There's  no  abstract  existence,  man's  first  born 

Ere  the  spiritual  world  he  can  adorn. 

On  earth,  not  freed  from  power  of  earthly  bands— 

So  like  the  beast,  yet  lord  of  many  lands. 

VI. 

Man  has  a  common  substance,  which  is  shared  by  all  other  forms  of 
created  beings  belonging  to  God's  creation. 

Organic  matter?  There  is  not  one  kind 

In  human  frames,  that  elsewhere  you'll  not  find. 

For  tissues,  muscles,  bones  and  nerves  of  men; 

The  veins,  cells,  carbon  and  the  hydrogen 

Are  equally  identical  when  found 

As  in  all  other  forms  of  life  abound. 

The  crumbled  rock,  the  soil,  the  plant,  the  star, 

Each  gives  to  us  a  part  of  what  we  are. 

It  is  no  metaphor  for  one  to  say 

That  man  who  lives  on  earth  from  day  to  day, 

Lives  in  the  trees;  lives  in  the  leafy  bowers; 

Lives  in  the  singing  birds;  lives  in  the  flowers; 


248  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Lives  in  the  rifting  clouds  that  float  on  high ; 
Lives  in  the  vapor  of  the  heavenly  sky. 
Whether  there's  transmigration  'of  the  soul 
There's  transmigration  of  our  bodies  whole 
In  various  other  forms  of  life  created  — 
For  soon  our  bodies  must  be  transmigrated. 
We  have  alike  a  common  substance  given 
With  evil  things  and  with  things  fit  for  heaven. 
There's  phosphorus  in  the  lordliest  of  brains; 
And  iron  even  in  a  prince's  veins. 
And  this  is  man  — the  creature  called  sublime, 
The  slave  of  matter,  and  the  thrall  of  Time! 
The  Human  body's  born,  and  then  it  dies, 
By  death  disintegrated  where  it  lies. 


VII. 

Man  is  the  highest  type  of  God's  creation.  Science  has  demonstrated 
that  there  is  a  similarity  iu  creation  of  all  God's  beings;  and  that 
Man  has  instincts  and  passions  in  common  with  all  of  them. 

Proud  Man  takes  highest  place  •  in  him  we  find 
The  loftiest  order  of  the  scale  in  kind : 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  249 

But  'tis  not  difficult  for  us  to  go 

From  rocks  to  his  self-conscious  being,  no! 

For  science  now  has  clearly  demonstrated  — 

By  physiologists  'tis  promulgated  — 

That  human  bodies,  prior  to  their  birth, 

Go  through  the  grades  of  animals  of  earth. 

Humbling,  it  may  be,  to  our  human  pride, 

Yet  'tis  a  fact  we  cannot  well  deride. 

In  structure,  Man's  to  animal  more  near 

Than  animal  to  bird,  for  it  is  clear 

Man's  skeleton  is  more  like  the  baboon 

Than  skeleton  of  bat  is  like  the  loon. 

So,  too,  mankind  the  lowest  instincts  share 

With  lower  animals,  as  wolf  or  bear. 

Our  hands  are  beautiful,  smooth,  and  wondrous  fair, 

Yet  like  the  claws  of  lions  in  their  lair. 

In  skull  of  wolf  or  hissing  snake  we  find 

A  brain  like  that  of  Man,  whose  mighty  mind 

Has  ruled  the  ages  — passing  strange,  yet  true! 

From  lower  forms  we  rose  to  high  and  new. 


260  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

VIII. 

Natural  history  is  incomplete  without  lichens,  ferns,  and  the  coral  reef 
of  the  lower  order  of  creation.  It  is  equally  so  with  Man,  the 
highest  type  of  creation. 

In  days  of  yore  the  ancient  fancies  gleam 

In  metamorphoses,  and  it  would  seem 

The  Roman  Ovid,,  writing  of  to-day 

In  view  of  science,  would  unquestioned  say: 

That  animals  and  plants  in  growth  adorn 

The  brother  man  — a  perfect  being  born. 

Our  Natural  History  is  incomplete 

If  lacking  lowest  forms  j  in  order  meet 

The  lichens,  ferns  and  mosses  must  be  counted 

Until  our  minds  to  higher  forms  have  mounted. 

As  well  the  sponge,  the  coral  reef,  and  then 

It  still  is  incomplete  till  we  add  men. 

Mars  may  perchance  be  peopled,  or  bright  Jove, 

The  Moon,  or  the  bright  Nebulae  world  above, 

With  some  yet  strange,  superior  clan, 

Who  have  no  known  relation  to  our  Man. 

Who  think  without  brains,  and  fly  without  wings, 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  251 


Walk  without  feet,  without  a  tongue  still  sings. 
Such  beings  dwell  in  our  imagination  — 
To  our  material  world  have  no  relation. 


IX. 

The  characteristics  of  Man  may  be  perfectly  described  by  the  use  of 
metaphors  embracing  the  lower  tribe. 

The  various  human  traits  we  may  describe 

By  metaphors  about  the  lower  tribe. 

We  say,  as  fierce  as  lion,  sly  as  fox, 

Timid  as  a  lamb,  patient  as  an  ox, 

Busy  as  bees,  or  like  the  goat  capricious, 

Mild  as  a  dove,  like  the  hyena  vicious. 

The  dog — no  greater  or  more  faithful  friend  — 

To  dwell  on  earth  with  mankind  God  did  send; 

No  greater  fondness  shows  the  human  mother 

Than  does  the  hen  which  doth  her  chickens  hover. 

For  it  is  true  in  beasts  we  often  see 

What  praise  we  most  in  Man,  a  quality 

That  fits  the  good  man  for  the  world  above 

Where  all  is  gladness,  peace  and  joyous  love. 


252  BJKCH-BOD  DAYS 

X. 

Man  is  wholly  dependent  upon  the  lower  races  for  subsistence,  but 
they  are  not  dependent  upon  him.  There  is  no  part  of  Nature  but 
what  Man  makes  use  of,  Man  uses,  admires,  and  adores  Nature, 
and  God  has  so  made  Nature  that  it  is  varied  and  intended  to  please 
all  mankind. 

While  it  is  true  that  Man  cannot  exist 
Without  the  lower  races,  they  subsist ; 
The  foxes  have  their  holes,  the  birds  their  nest ; 
What  has  poor  Man?     Not  where  to  take  his  rest! 
From  first  until  the  final  breath  gives  way, 
These  creatures  minister  to  his  wants  eacli  day  j 
With  greater  knowledge  yet  he  scarce  contrives 
To  live  without  these  low,  inferior  lives. 
That  he  must  live,  Man  must  breathe  vital  air, 
Must  drink  from  fountains,  water,  cool  and  clear, 
Must  feed  on  fruits  of  fields,  the  corn,  the  wheat, 
The  flesh  of  animals  compelled  to  eat. 
Man's  mansion,  home,  to  him  a  paradise, 
He  doth  of  wood,  earth,  iron,  stone,  devise. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  253 

Take  but  the  natural  elements  away, 
Man  could  not  live  upon  the  earth  a  day. 
O  Nature,  Man  doth  all  thy  beauties  love! 
From  atoms  here  to  thy  great  works  above; 
He  loves  the  beauteous  landscape  Nature  made, 
With  grouping  trees,  and  cool  and  grateful  shade. 
Music's  ethereal  voice  which  moves  the  soul 
Is  but  thy  air,  as  sweet  vibrations  roll 
From  trained  voice  of  some  great  queen  of  song, 
Or  music  from  the  woods  of  winged  throng. 
Thy  works  are  varied  for  Man's  pleasure  here, 
And  Man  is  ever  changing  o'er  thy  sphere; 
For  some  are  never  happy  where  are  trees  • 
Some  have  no  joy  without  the  balmy  breeze; 
While  some  may  love  to  watch  meandering  rills ; 
Some  love  the  prairies,  others  love  the  hills ; 
Some  love  to  live  beside  the  great  blue  sea, 
Some  think  it  desolate  as  it  can  be. 
To  some  philosophy  and  pleasure  hies, 
On  cloudy  days,  amid  the  weeping  skies. 


254  BIRCH-ROD  DATS 

XL 

Nature  is  needed  to  develop  Man.  Its  influence  expands  his  mind, 
and  Man  grows  continuously  in  knowledge  in  studying  tbe  wisdom 
of  God's  creation.  It  teaches  him  the  lesson  of  immortality. 

Nature  is  needed  to  enrich  Man's  powers 

Which  God  has  given  us  as  truly  ours ; 

This  world  is  beauteous  in  sights  and  sounds ; 

With  Nature's  myriad  voices  it  abounds  ; 

From  rock,  from  river,  tender  flower  and  spray, 

Come  ministers  of  joy  for  every  day. 

Man  must  have  Nature,  with  her  fountains,  rills, 

Her  prairies,  lawns,  her  woodlands,  farms,  and  bills, 

Her  birds,  her  beasts,  her  insects  and  her  grain, 

Her  forests,  rocks,  her  wonders,  I  maintain 

Those  who  well  know  them  nobler  men  will  be, 

And  larger  their  spirituality. 

O,  Nature,  quiet,  lovely  Nature,  we 

Under  thy  influence  would  wish  to  be ; 

To  know  of  God's  creation  makes  us  wise ; 

His  trees,  His  fruits,  His  plants,  His  flowers,  His  skies  • 

And  all  the  universe  clear-voiced  shall  teach, 

Man  mortal  and  decaying  things  must  reach, 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  255 

For  they  help  teach  us  when  this  life  we've  trod  — 
Our  soul  immortal  is — there  is  a  God. 

XII. 

Man  is  different  from  the  things  which  God  created  to  live  with  him. 
He  has  power  to  fill  God's  offices  here  below.  He  controls  by  vol 
untary  will.  He  has  power  of  migration,  and  can  go  from  pole  to 
pole,  and  can  live  and  thrive  well  everywhere.  This  is  not  true  of 
God's  lower  creation. 

Man  diners  from  the  things  that  God  created 
To  live  with  Him ;  for  man  is  separated 
From  mountain,  forest,  birds,  or  any  beast  — 
O'er  all  creation  Man  is  still  high  priest. 
He  has  the  power  God's  office  to  fulfill, 
Alone  controls  by  voluntary  will ; 
Alone  has  perfect  power  of  free  migration  • 
Alone  removes  from  station  unto  station ; 
On  Mother  Earth,  changes  his  dwelling-pi  ace  • 
Alone  can  mingle  with  some  other  race ; 
Changes  one  air  for  other,  east  or  west ; 
Seeks  at  his  will  the  climes  that  he  loves  best  • 
From  north  to  south,  from  forest  and  from  plain ; 
Goes  from  the  lowland  to  the  highland  main ; 


256  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Or  from  the  torrid  to  the  frigid  clime, 
And  lives,  and  likewise  thrives  in  all,  sublime. 
'Tis  true  the  dog  in  every  clime  is  known, 
Goes  with  his  master,  Man,  from  zone  to  zone  ; 
The  lion  lives  in  Afric's  sunny  breeze, 
Except  when  caged  and  carried  'cross  the  seas. 
Seeds  emigrate  —  that  task  the  winds  perform  — 
Birds  fly  across  the  ocean  with  the  storm ; 
Indeed,  they  sometimes  warmer  climates  seek, 
At  times  the  cooler  crags  and  mountain  peak. 
But  these  are  certainly  but  chance  migrations, 
And  should  not  be  confounded  with  earth's  nations. 
Seeds  go  with  the  winds;  birds  fly  with  the  season  ; 
God's  child,  proud  Man,  alone  migrates  by  reason; 
To  no  one  place  restricted,  here  to-day, 
To-morrow  elsewhere,  as  he  wills  or  may. 
By  myriads  each  year  their  Emerald  Isle 
The  Irish  leave,  with  sad  and  tearful  smile, 
To  seek  a  home  beyond  the  far-off  sea, 
Be  with  his  brother  there  forever  free ! 
His  bogs  remain,  and  will,  forever  fast, 
A  part  of  Ireland,  future,  present,  past. 


AND  GTHEU  POEMS.  257 

The  Germans  come,  but  their  black  forests  stay, 

Enduring  monuments,  till  Time's  decay. 

Man  orders  changos,  goes  where  he  may  please 

O'er  all  the  earth,  and  over  all  the  seas. 

The  wise  man  travels  over  seas  and  lands, 

Notes  what  he  wills,  and  thus  his  mind  expands; 

Sees  many  races,  reads  their  books;  and  then 

Learns  science  and  the  arts  and  tongues  of  men  ; 

He  thus  fulfills  his  destiny  below  — 

Knows  well  himself,  and  others  tries  to  know. 

XIII. 

Man  alone  has  been  gifted  with  speech,  by  moans  of  which  he  conveys 
his  thoughts  and  expands  his  reason. 

And  then  no  other  being  but  proud  Man 
Possesses  power  of  speech,  by  which  he  can 
Ideas  express,  his  very  thoughts  convey, 
Vary,  enlarge,  and  broaden,  day  by  day, 
Nature,  'tis  true,  has  voice ;  her  spheres  abound 
With  music  sweet,  with  Nature's  heavenly  sound  j 
For  there  is  music  in  the  ocean's  roar; 
And  there  is  music  in  the  torrent's  pour; 


258  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

And  there  is  music  in  the  waves  that  crash 
Upon  the  ocean's  rocks,  then  roll  and  dash 
In  tide  that  ebbs  and  flows  from  out  the  sea, 
With  rolling  sound  of  deepest  melody. 
All  Nature  has  a  voice  — the  insects  gloat, 
And  sing  or  chirp,  in  their  peculiar  note; 
The  Locust's  song  is  heard  thro'  all  the  land 
To-day,  as  first  it  sang  on  Egypt's  strand ; 
Chirps  still  the  cricket  at  the  twilight's  dawn ; 
Croaks  still  the  frog  as  in  the  ages  gone ; 
The  serpent  hisses,  rattles,  warns  its  foes 
Ere  it  will  deal  its  death  impending  blows ; 
Still  may  be  heard  the  cry  of  crocodile 
Unchanged  tho'  centuries  roll  along  the  Nile. 
The  birds  still  twitter,  scream  or  chirp,  in  talk, 
Save  few  that  do  possess  the  power  to  mock ; 
But  Man  the  voice  of  reason  doth  command : 
His  speech,  his  thought,  his  reason  doth  expand ; 
How  high  is  he  endowed— divinely  wrought, 
Who  by  his  speech  conveys  eternal  thought. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  259 

XIY. 

Man  can  control  all  natural  forces  — can  handle  and  tame  the  brute 
element.  Man  reasons  and  thinks  for  himself;  Invents,  and  by 
reason  of  his  inventions,  utilizes  all  the  forces  of  Nature,  and 
brings  them  to  do  his  bidding. 

'Tis  clear  that  Man  controls  the  natural  forces, 

Lord  over  mountains,  valleys,  water-courses, 

He  can  the  lightning  harness,  for  his  thought, 

To  flash  around  the  world.   And  he  has  taught 

The  lower  creatures  to  obey  his  will, 

And  all  his  menial  duties  to  fulfill. 

He  pierces  mountains,  and  the  lakes  he  fills 

With  excavations  from  the  stately  hills ; 

Rivers,  that  in  broad  channels  proudly  go, 

Are  changed,  in  hidden  million  rills  to  flow 

To  houses  in  the  cities  far  away, 

For  grateful  ministry  to  man  each  day ; 

The  deep  blue  ocean,  with  relentless  waves, 

Man  plows  his  way  through   with  great  ships,  and 

braves 

Its  storms  and  hardships,  things  of  greatest  worth 
He  brings  from  all  the  nations  of  the  earth. 


260  BIRCH-ROD  DAYS 

Forcing  the  elements,  combining  skill 

To  uses  new,  by  force  of  power  and  will. 

The  lower  beings  naught  invent,  create, 

They  processes  repeat,  nor  hesitate 

For  generations  o'er  the  same  to  do, 

Ingenious  it  may  seem,  'tis  never  new. 

On  Syrian  hills  the  leopards  hunt  to-day, 

As  in  the  ages  gone  they  sought  their  prey; 

The  beaver  builds  his  dam  across  the  stream, 

No  more  ingenious  now  than  past,  'twould  seem. 

And  busy  bee,  its  cells  for  storing  food, 

Of  old  was  just  as  now,  tho'  always  good; 

The  ant  has  found  no  new  way  food  to  stow, 

Resorting  still  to  her  old  process  slow. 

The  busy  mind  of  man  is  ever  wise : 

He  presses  on,  inventions  to  devise; 

His  mind,  not  satisfied  with  former  deeds. 

With  new  resources  struggles  and  succeeds. 

The  rudest  savage  will  much  more  invent 

Than  the  wisest  animal  that  God  e'er  sent. 

The  spider's  web,  as  it  doth  float  in  air, 

Can  it  with  weavings  of  the  loom  compare? 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  2W1 

Is  the  fastidious  butterfly,  so  gay, 
Flitting  among  the  gorgeous  flowers  of  May, 
To  be  compared  to  chemist,  who  by  skill, 
Combines  the  flowers,  their  essence  makes  at  will? 

XV. 

Man  alone  of  God's  created  beings  c;ui  interpret  Nature,  can  read 
God's  plan.  Man  bus  a  science  of  Nature,  even  tho'  it  be  crude, 
and  tries  to  ferret  out  and  ascertain  the  secrets  of  Nature.  Even 
in  a  little  flower  Man  finds  a  treasure.  Animals  have  instinct  but 
not  reflective  sense,  nor  Man's  intelligence. 

Another  difference,  'tis  left  for  Man 

To  interpret  Nature,  read  God's  plan. 

Their  law  the  other  works  of  God  obey, 

But  Man  interprets  well  their  law  each  day. 

Back  to  the  origin  of  things  Man  turns, 

To  know,  explain  things,  quick  his  eyes  discerns  — 

The  past,  notes  changes — growths  now  gone  will  tell, 

Transmits  the  annals  of  this  world  as  well. 

A  century  rolls  and  yet  the  raven  lives, 

But  no  account  of  other  ravens  gives. 


262  BIKCH-UOD  DAYS 

The  brute  but  knows  its  own  small  time  and  place, 

It  has  no  knowledge  of  its  kind  or  race. 

Man  has  no  limit  j  he  is  not  confined 

To  races  of  the  past.  His  well-stored  mind 

Knows  lore  of  former  worlds  •  and  even  then 

As  well  the  present,  too,  for  do  not  men 

Seek  knowledge  of  the  present,  past,  and  read 

The  future  by  the  past  —  its  teachings  heed? 

He  cares  to  question  Nature,  ferret  out 

Her  secrets;  not  content  to  be  in  doubt. 

Serene  forever,  well  content  to  stand 

The  mountain  is.   Careless  of  beast  or  Man 

That  comes  or  goes.  It  d  >es  not  ask  nor  care, 

In  all  its  thousand  years,  why  it  is  there. 

The  rills  play  down  its  sides ;  the  wild  goat  leaps 

O'er  its  wild  crags,  and  'round  its  rocky  steeps  ; 

It  has  no  rival  mountain,  far  or  near, 

And  does  not  wish  to  know  why  I  am  here. 

But  Man,  who  dies  to-morrow,  tries  the  task 

To  have  these  questions  answered,  and  will  ask 

Of  all  Creation's  works  for  answer  plain, 

The  mysteries  of  living  to  explain. 


AND  OTHER  POEMS.  && 

Will    watch  the    growth    of    plants,    still    finding 

pleasure ; 

And  in  the  tiniest  flower  a  priceless  treasure. 
For  in  created  things  there  dwells  a  soul  — 
In  trees,  rocks,  mountains,  in  the  streams  that  roll 
Forever  to  the  sea.   'Tis  sweet  to  hear 
The  music  of  the  groves.  Upon  the  ear 
The  bird-notes  fall  but  lightly  — yet  they  bear 
Soft  soothing  to  the  senses,  like  a  prayer. 
The  star-sown  heavens  declare  Creation's  gloiy. 
And  Nature's  varied  charms  repeat  the  story. 
He  sings  the  glories  of  the  heavenly  throng , 
For  him  the  silent  stars  attune  their  song; 
And  o'er  the  face  of  Nature  Man  will  throw 
Effulgent  glory ;  'twill  in  beauty  glow  j 
He  makes  instructive,  eloquent  each  part, 
So  wise,  so  skillful,  so  sublime  his  art. 
Thus  Man  alone,  how  proud  to  bear  the  name, 
As  Nature's  sole  interpreter  may  claim. 


264  BIRCH-ROD   DAYS 

XYI. 

Man,  with  all  his  wisdom,  disobeys  and  wilfully  transgresses  the  laws 
of  his  creator,  and  is  punished.  He  has  aspirations,  also,  to  join 
God  in  that  kingdom  beyond  this  vale  of  of  tears,  and  hope  for 
more  than  earthly  life. 

Aspiring  Man  !  The  knowledge  you  possess 
Has  also  taught  thee  cunning,  to  transgress 
God's  laws.  Of  God's  created  things 
For  only  Man  his  sinful  nature  brings, 
To  curse  the  world.  'Mid  sin  and  vice  he  gropes, 
And  yet,  through  all,  this  strangest  being  hopes! 
The  star  of  Bethlehem  to  earth  came  down 
Not  to  save  beasts  —  but  Man,  creation's  crown. 
He  came  to  save ;  and  so,  thro'  storm  and  night, 
Our  timid  eyes  turn  upward  to  the  light. 
We  scan  the  future,  not  with  doubt  and  fear, 
But  filled  with  hope  of  what  shall  yet  appear. 
Beyond  to  starry  worlds,  o'er  time  and  sense, 
Man  leaps  the  boundaries  to  realms  immense. 
His  ardent  spirit,  calm  and  hopeful,  longs 
When  life  is  o'er  to  join  supernal  throngs. 


AND  Ol'HEK  POEMS.  265 


XVII. 

Mao  blesses  God  for  the  promise  of  immortal  life,  and  hopes  to  be 
finally  numbered  with  the  just  of  God's  creation,  where  he  will 
ever  praise  the  Giver  of  all.  Man  surely  hath  honor  and  glory 
here  upon  earth. 

Almighty  God !  For  what  thy  hand  has  given 
We  bless  thee  ;  Ruler  of  the  earth  and  heaven. 
We  praise  thee  for  immortal  life,  and  trust 
All  men  may  yet  be  numbered  with  the  just; 
We  thank  thee,  Lord,  for  that  enduring  hope, 
As  darkly  thro'  this  earthly  life  we  grope; 
We  worship  thee,  our  Father,  for  the  word 
That  tells  thy  promise  Man  shall  be  preferred. 
Oh,  Hope  !  that's  long  deferred,  but  ever  still 
A  star,  a  dazzling  star,  that  always  will 
Be  guide  of  Man,  poor  Man  upon  the  earth, 
Doomed,  fated,  sad,  from  very  hour  of  birth; 
And  when,  at  last,  the  heavenly  voice  shall  speak 
And  bid  thee  share  the  endless  rest  ye  seek, 
Oh,  be  ye  ready  !  ever  watchful,  pray! 
For  life's  soon  o'er,  comes  then  the  endless  day. 


266  BlUCH-ROD  DAYS 

Oh,  holy  light !  Born  of  eternal  years  ! 
The  blind  shall  know  thee,  yet  rejoice  in  tears ! 
In  heavenly  home,  beyond  the  starry  skies, 
Man  yet  shall  praise  thee,  Ruler,  just  and  wise. 
Man  surely  hath'  dominion,  honor,  here, 
Created  Lord  of  earth,  without  a  peer. 


